THE  MASTER 


THE  MASTER  BY 
HERMANN  BAHR   ADAPT 
ED  FOR  THE  AMERICAN 
STAGE  BY  BENJAMIN  F  GLAZER 


Philadelphia    NICHOLAS  L  BROWN    1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1918 

BY 

NICHOLAS  L.  BROWN 


DEDICATOEY  PREFACE 
To  ARNOLD  DALY 


2081433 


Dear  Arnold  Daly : 

No  publication  of  this  play  would  be  complete  that 
failed  to  acknowledge  its  debt  to  you.  And  that  debt, 
strangely  enough,  does  not  consist  in  the  fact  that  you 
acted  the  play  so  admirably,  but  that  you  acted  it  at  all. 

Looking  backward,  it  may  not  seem  to  the  casual 
observer  that  there  was  any  especial  merit  in  having 
sponsored  a  play  which  won  a  critical  reception  as  over- 
whelmingly favorable  as  that  accorded  "The  Master." 
But  the  casual  observer  is  not  a  competent  witness  of 
theatrical  affairs.  He  does  not  realize  how  utterly  the 
American  stage  is  given  over  to  the  broad,  the  senti- 
mental, the  commonplace.  He  cannot  know,  as  you 
know,  how  scrupulously  the  average  American  "star" 
actor  shrinks  from  a  role  that  savors  of  the  intellectual. 

The  adventures  of  this  play  in  manuscript — and  I 
daresay  many  meritorious  play-manuscripts  have  fared 
worse — may  elucidate  the  point.  I  finished  the  adapta- 
tion at  St.  Ives  in  Cornwall  during  the  Summer  of 
1912.  On  my  return  to  this  country,  in  October  of  the 
same  year,  it  was  offered  to  a  very  prominent  New  York 
manager,  and  immediately  accepted  for  production. 
This  manager  was  most  enthusiastic  about  the  play  until 
someone — I  think  it  was  the  third  assistant  publicity 
manager — whispered  the  fatal  word  "Highbrow!"  and 
his  enthusiasm  forthwith  subsided.  At  this  point  I,  too, 
lost  interest;  and  the  destinies  of  the  manuscript  were 


left  in  the  capable  hands  of  my  very  zealous  agent.  Not 
until  four  years  later — in  August  of  1916,  to  be  exact — 
was  the  play  accepted  for  production  by  Mrs.  Henry  B. 
Harris,  and  was  actually  produced  at  Cleveland  in 
October  of  the  same  year. 

In  the  interim  it  was  energetically  peddled  from 
manager  to  actor  and  from  actor  to  manager  by  my 
optimistic  agent.  There  may  be  one  or  two  "stars" 
who  did  not  refuse  the  play  before  you  saw  it ;  if  so,  the 
omission  was  unintentional.  And  yet  its  reception  was 
varied. 

One  actor,  who  had  left  his  fiftieth  birthday  behind 
him,  decided  that  the  title  role  was  too  old  for  him. 
Another  invited  me  down  to  his  country  home  to  rewrite 
the  play  under  his  direction.  A  third  was  afraid  that 
he  was  too  short  to  play  the  part;  whether  in  talent  or 
in  stature  he  did  not  specify.  A  fourth  contended  that 
it  was  a  subordinate  role  because  it  failed  to  enlist  the 
sympathy  of  the  audiences.  So  it  went.  To  no  avail 
did  my  agent  point  out  that  Hermann  Babr  was  one  of 
the  most  popular  dramatists  on  the  Continent;  that 
"The  Master"  had  been  in  the  repertoire  of  most  of  the 
eminent  European  actors  for  a  dozen  years  or  more. 
The  American  "star"  would  have  none  of  it. 

With  the  managers  he  fared  no  better,  which  is  not 
surprising.  After  all,  the  history  of  the  American 
theatre  holds  little  to  encourage  the  manager  in  the 
quest  of  plays  of  authentic  literary  or  dramatic  merit. 
Few  managers  pretend  to  be  artists  or  even  patrons  of 
art,  and  most  of  them  are  quite  frankly  business  men 
and  nothing  else.  Even  Mrs.  Harris  was  dubious  about 
the  commercial  prospects  of  "The  Master."  At  the  very 
outset  she  said  to  me:  "I  do  not  expect  to  make  money 
on  this  play ;  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  I  lose  heavily ; 

8 


but  the  play  is  worth  it."  And  she  meant  it.  I  wonder 
if  any  American  manager  ever  said  that  before. 

Meantime  you  had  read  the  play  and  marked  it  for 
your  own.  It  only  remained  for  my  agent  to  bring  you 
and  her  together. 

We  had  been  solemnly  warned  against  you.  Every 
manner  of  crime  of  temper  and  of  temperament  was 
charged  against  you.  We  were  told  it  was  your  custom 
to  leave  a  company  without  notice  at  the  most  awkward 
times ;  that  quite  probably  you  would  fly  in  a  rage  some 
day  and  tear  the  scenery  into  shreds;  that  you  ate  a 
leading  lady  for  luncheon  every  day ;  that  you  were  the 
terror  of  actors,  the  despair  of  managers  and  the 
anathema  of  authors.  Really,  I  gathered  that  you  were 
at  once  the  most  discreditable  and  the  most  respected 
actor  in  America. 

Judge  of  my  relief  to  find  that  rumor  had  slandered 
you  so  grievously.  Yet  it  was  not  difficult  to  discover  a 
fancied  basis  for  the  slander.  There  was  about  you  that 
nervous  energy — so  disconcerting  to  smug  people — 
which  vented  itself  in  many  unanticipated  ways.  It 
inspired  your  associates  while  it  awed  them.  You  could 
be  intolerant,  but  only  with  incompetence ;  you  could  be 
caustic,  but  only  toward  mediocrity ;  you  could  proclaim 
your  opinions  with  irritating  assurance,  but  I  have  never 
met  a  man  quicker  to  accept  a  fruitful  suggestion  or 
keener,  for  that  matter,  to  nail  the  fallacy  of  an 
erroneous  one.  It  was  soon  clear  to  me  that  common- 
place people  must  hate  you  heartily.  I  ruefully  acknowl- 
edge that  there  were  moments  when  I  hated  you  like  that. 

At  rehearsals  I  used  to  marvel  at  your  well  nigh 
infallible  instinct  for  the  right  posture,  the  most  eloquent 
gesture,  the  most  convincing  shading  of  a  line.  You 
seemed  to  feel  rather  than  to  reason  the  solution  of  each 

9 


technical  problem,  whether  of  your  own  or  of  your  asso- 
ciates, to  whom  you  were  ever  helpful  and  considerate. 
But  I  could  not  be  sure  that  this  infallibility  of  yours 
was  always  as  instinctive  as  it  seemed.  I  marked,  for 
instance,  how  thorough  you  were  in  committing  your 
lines  to  memory.  Another  member  of  the  company 
might  be  content  to  speak  a  substituted  word,  an 
inverted  phrase.  Not  you.  If  there  was  the  slightest 
doubt  about  the  least  material  word,  your  quick  ear 
caught  it,  and  you  had  immediate  recourse  to  the  prompt- 
book. And  in  the  end  you  read  the  part  with  not  a 
comma  out  of  place.  That,  I  told  myself,  is  the  differ- 
ence between  an  artist  and  an  actor. 

It  was  the  same  at  public  performances.  I  thought 
you  should  never  be  through  with  your  psychic  experi- 
ments on  the  public.  Tonight  you  played  a  scene  one 
way,  and  tomorrow  another.  And  always  some  occult 
perception  in  you  seemed  to  be  waiting  and  watching 
for  the  emotional  response  that  would  give  you  the 
answer  you  sought.  Even  after  the  New  York  premier, 
when  the  praise  that  was  accorded  you  should  certainly 
have  satisfied  you,  I  thought  I  saw  you  still  experi- 
menting. And  to  me  it  was  the  supreme  proof  of  your 
artistry  that  you  were  the  severest  critic  of  your  own 
work. 

I  am  proud  to  have  been  the  means  of  introducing  to 
the  American  theatre,  through  the  medium  of  your 
matchless  art,  the  master  work  of  Hermann  Bahr.  And 
I  gratefully  acknowledge  that  on  the  stage  you  have 
magnified  and  transfigured  whatever  merit  there  is  in 
this  adaptation. 

BENJAMIN  F.  GLAZER. 


10 


THE  ORIGINAL  CAST,  as  produced  under  the 
direction  of  the  Estate  of  Henry  B.  Harris  at  the  Fulton 
Theatre,  New  York  City,  December  5,  1916 : 

(In  the  order  of  their  appearance) 

IDA  WAYNE FLORENCE  OAKLEY 

CLEMENS CHARLES  HALTON 

KATHEBINE,  wife  of  Arthur  Wessley.  .EDYTH  LATIMER 

ARTHUR  WESSLEY ARNOLD  DALY 

DR.  EVANS PHILIP  WOOD 

DR.  ROKORO .  .EDWARD  ABELBS 

MORTIMER  WEEKS,  editor  of  "The  Faun"  ROYAL  BYRON 
JULIET,  wife  of  Raymond  Wessley.  .EDNA  MAY  OLIVER 
HON.  PETER  BROOKSON,  the  Mayor.  .WILLIAM  FREDERIC 
DR.  RAYMOND  WESSLEY,  Director  of  Public  Health 

CARL  ECKSTROM 
DR.  KLAUDER,  Pres.  of  the  Medico-Surgical  College 

GEORGE  GASTON 
EUGENE  THOMPSON RAMSAY  WALLACE 

Produced  under  the  direction  of  Ira  Hards 


11 


PERSON'S 
ARTHUR  WESSLBY. 
KATHERINE,  his  wife. 

DR.  RAYMOND  WESSLEY,  Director  of  Public  Health. 
JULIET,  his  wife. 
DR.  ROKORO. 
EUGENE  THOMPSON. 
DR.  EVANS. 
IDA  WAYNE. 

DR.  KLAUDER,  President  of  the  Medico-Surgical  College. 
HON.  PETER  BROOKSON,  the  Mayor. 
MORTIMER  WEEKS,  editor  of  "The  Faun" 
CLEMENS. 

The  action  takes  place  during  two  consecutive  days  in 
Arthur  Wessley's  private  hospital  on  the  outskirts  of  a 
small  city. 


13 


ACT  I 

Arthur  Wessley's  study  is  a  high-ceiling ed,  old- 
fashioned  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  a  private  hospital. 
Broad  French  windows  at  back  look  out  upon  a  garden; 
before  them  is  a  long,  low  table  bearing  charts,  papers, 
bottles,  orthopedic  appliances  and  a  large  vase;  heavy 
chairs  stand  on  three  sides  of  it.  The  walls  at  right  and 
left  are  lined  with  practical  book-shelves  containing 
books.  At  left  is  an  old  Dutch  cabinet  of  carved  wood; 
opposite  it  is  a  huge  chest  of  drawers,  on  which  stands 
a  bust  of  Socrates. 

Up  left  a  heavy  door  opens  into  a  corridor,  which  leads 
to  the  outer  door,  the  stairs  and  hospital  wards.  Another 
and  smaller  door  at  right  leads  into  a  bathroom.  Down 
right  there  is  a  wide  fireplace,  with  brass  fender  and 
andirons,  topped  by  a  mantelpiece,  on  which  stand  a 
few  brass  candlesticks  and  a  framed  photograph  of 
Katherine. 

A  sofa  stands  slantwise  opposite  the  fireplace,  and 
near  it  a  reading  lamp  on  a  pedestal.  A  cloth-covered 
novel  lies  open  upon  the  sofa.  Down  left  there  is  a 
small  table  upon  which  is  a  typewriting  machine,  and 
beside  it  a  blotting-pad,  with  pen  and  ink.  Otherwise 
the  room  is  furnished  tastefully  and  with  an  eye  for 
solid  comfort.  The  time  is  about  seven  o'clock  of  a  fine 
Summer  morning. 

At  the  rise  of  the  curtain  Clemens  is  discovered, 
dusting  the  room.  He  is  fifty-five,  gray-haired,  speaks 
with  a  faint  German  accent.  Presently  Ida  enters  at 

15 


left  with  newspapers,  which  she  puts  on  the  larger  table, 
and  letters  which  she  carries  to  the  smaller  table.  She 
is  twenty-three,  slender  and  rather  pale,  and  pretty  in  a 
dark,  wistful  way. 

IDA  :  Isn't  the  master  up  yet  ? 

CLEMENS  :  [points  to  the  door  at  right]    In  his  bath. 

IDA:  And  you  are  just  cleaning  up! 

CLEMENS:  I  couldn't  do  it  any  sooner;  he  occupied 
the  room,  [disapprovingly]  Up  all  night  again. 

IDA:  [glances  at  the  book  on  the  couch]  Two  difficult 
operations  yesterday,  yet  he  sits  up  all  night  reading 
detective  stories. 

CLEMENS:  Ifs  a  wonder  he  don't  make  himself  sick 
by  it.  [Ida  sits  at  the  smaller  table,  begins  to  open  and 
read  the  mail.] 

CLEMENS  :  Did  you  see  what  it  says  in  the  papers  this 
morning  ? 

IDA:  [without  looking  up]    Yes. 

CLEMENS  :  Professor !  [shakes  his  head]  How  things 
do  change !  When  you  think  that  a  short  time  ago  .  .  . 
you  can  really  say  the  whole  city  was  against  him — the 
newspapers,  the  authorities  .  .  .  and  the  scandal  with 
his  own  brother 

IDA:  [looks  up  from  a  letter,  thoughtfully]  And  he 
only  laughed. 

CLEMENS  :  What  doesn't  he  laugh  at? 

IDA  :  He  will  laugh  at  this,  too.  [flourishes  the  letter] 
His  brother,  the  Director  of  Health,  writes  that  he  is 
coming  with  the  Mayor  and  the  President  of  the  Faculty 
to  pay  his  respects  to  the  new  professor,  [puts  the 
letter  carefully  aside,  separate  from  the  rest.] 

CLEMENS  :  Yes,  it  will  be  different  now.  All  against 
him,  him  against  everybody — and  he  has  won.  Oh,  it  is 
wonderful ! 

16  i 


IDA  :  [with  pride]    He  made  them  come  to  him. 

CLEMENS:  I'm  most  glad  on  account  of  the  missus. 
He — my  God,  he  don't  care  what  they  do  or  say,  but 
the  dear  lady  must  have  suffered,  even  if  she  didn't 
show  it.  ... 

IDA  :  Yes,  Clemens,  but  go  on  with  your  work ;  you're 
late. 

CLEMENS  :  [dusting]  It  used  to  be  so  lonely  for  her 
here — just  like  in  a  prison.  You  don't  know  what  kind 
of  a  life  she  was  used  to  in  the  old  country.  He  was 
onty  a  poor  student  then,  but  she  was  rich  and  of  a  fine 
family  and  plenty  of  friends,  and 

IDA  :  [annoyed]   You  have  told  me  so  often ! 

CLEMENS  :  Yes,  Miss  Ida,  those  were  happy  days  for 
all  of  us.  And  all  of  a  sudden  he  brings  us  here  .  .  . 
like  in  a  prison  .  .  .  not  a  soul  to  visit  us 

IDA  :  You  forget  Mr.  Thompson. 

CLEMENS  :  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson !  He  stuck  to  us  from 
the  beginning.  The  master  should  be  thankful  to  him 
for  it,  too. 

IDA  :  [warningly]   Hmm ! 

[Katherine  enters  from  left.     She  is  twenty-five, 

tall,  fair-haired,  her  habitual  air  of  quiet  self-posses- 
sion accentuated  by  the  white  nurse's  uniform  she 

wears.    She  carries  flowers.] 

KATHERINE:  Isn't  Mr.  Wessley  down  yet?  \goes  to 
the  larger  table,  arranges  the  flowers  in  the  vase.] 

CLEMENS  :  [points  to  the  door  at  right]  Yes,  ma'am, 
he  comes  soon. 

IDA:  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Wessley. 

KATHERINE:  Good  morning,  Ida.  [bends  over  the 
vase]  Aren't  you  excited  over  the  news? 

IDA  :  There  is  more  news — a  letter  from  the  master's 
brother  in  this  morning's  mail. 


KATHERINE:  [without  turning]   Read  it  to  me. 

IDA:  [reads]  "My  dear  brother,  no  doubt  you  have 
by  this  time  learned  from  the  public  prints  that  it  is 
the  intention  of  the  Medico-Surgical  College  to  honor 
you  with  the  degree  of  Professor  of  Surgery.  Need  I 
say  that  I  am  deeply  gratified  by  the  news  that  you  will 
be  so  honored,  and  profoundly  thankful  that  the  opposi- 
tion my  public  office  has  heretofore  compelled  me  to 
show  toward  you  may  now  be  withdrawn.  It  will  be  my 
pleasure  to  present  myself  at  your  house  this  morning, 
in  the  company  of  His  Honor,  the  Mayor,  Dr.  Klauder 
and  my  wife,  to  congratulate  you  in  person.  Very 
cordially  yours,  Raymond  Wessley." 

CLEMENS  :  Erlauben  gnadige  Frau,  dass  ich  halt  auch 
herzlichst 

KATHERINE:  Thank  you,  Clemens. 

CLEMENS  :  It  is  a  good  fortune  for  us  all. 

KATHERINE:  Yes,  my  good  Clemens,  and  you  did 
your  share  to  help. 

CLEMENS  :  It  was  terrible  .  .  .  Well,  thank  God, 
it's  over  now. 

KATHERINE:  [finished  with  the  flowers']  Did  you  find 
it  so  hard  to  bear  as  that?  [half  to  herself;  reflectively] 
I  don't  know.  It's  strange !  [starts  to  go.~\ 

IDA:  Will  the  visitors  stay  to  luncheon? 

KATHERINE  :  Oh,  perhaps  we  ought  to  be  prepared  in 
any  event.  Will  you  attend  to  it? 

IDA:  Five  extra? 

KATHERINE:  Yes,  five.  What  time  is  the  operation 
this  morning? 

IDA  :  At  nine. 

KATHERINE  :  Then  I  shall  have  a  look  at  that  boy  in 
number  seven  first.  If  my  husband  asks  for  me,  I  am  in 

18 


seven,      [going]      Don't  let  him  forget  the  operation 
again,  will  you  ?    [exits  at  left.] 

CLEMENS:  There  is  one  thing  I  would  like  to  know. 
Do  you  think  we  ought  to  call  him  professor  from 
now  on? 

IDA:  He  doesn't  need  that  title.  He  is  more  than 
professor. 

CLEMENS:  But  professor  sounds  something  higher 
than  master.  I  never  understood  why  he  calls  himself 
master,  master  of  surgery. 

IDA:  They  wouldn't  let  him  call  himself  doctor. 

CLEMENS  :  Yes,  but  master.  In  the  German  language 
meister — that  means  something.  But  here  in  America 
when  they  say  master  they  mean  a  little  boy. 

IDA:  Perhaps  that  is  why  he  chose  it. 

[Arthur  enters  at  right,  wrapped  in  a  bathrobe.] 

ARTHUR:  [to  Clemens]  My  coffee — quick,  [lights  a 
cigarette;  approaches  Ida.  Clemens  exits.]  Morning, 
Ida.  [indicating  the  letters]  What  new  work  have  you 
got  for  me  ? 

IDA  :  Enough  for  a  month. 

ARTHUR:  Oh! 

IDA:  [deprecatingly]  If  you  would  only  take  care 
of  yourself,  master.  [Arthur  smiles]  Up  all  night 
again ! 

ARTHUR:  "The  Adventures  of  Sherlock  Holmes." 
Wonderful  book!  Makes  me  wish  I  were  a  detective 
myself.  Well,  what  time  today . 

IDA  :  At  nine.  And  Mrs.  Wessley  warned  me  not  to 
let  you  forget  again. 

ARTHUR  :  [smiles]  Did  she  ?  It's  that  boy  in  number 
seven,  isn't  it?  Poor  little  devil,  [goes  up  right  to  the 
door]  Did  you  send  Mr.  Clayborne  that  receipted  bill 
yesterday  ? 

19 


IDA:  Of  course,  master. 

ARTHUR  :  We  were  well  paid  for  that  case,  eh  ? 

IDA:  Yes,  it  was  an  enormous  fee  you  charged  him. 

ARTHUR:  I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  money. 

IDA:  What  else? 

ARTHUR  :  Unsophisticated  child !  Do  you  suppose  I 
am  being  made  a  professor  because  the  learned  faculty 
has  suddenly  learned  to  love  me  ?  Lord,  no !  Clayborne, 
the  boss,  grateful  for  my  cure  of  his  crippled  son,  gives 
the  order ;  and  lo !  I  am  a  professor  of  the  same  college 
that  yesterday  called  me  quack.  Isn't  it  delicious? 

IDA  :  Oh,  there  is  a  letter  from  your  brother  about  it. 

ARTHUR:  My    .    .    .     ? 

IDA:  Your  brother,  the  Director  of  Health.  He 
writes  that  he  is  coming  to  congratulate  you  with  his 
wife,  the  Mayor  and  the  President  of  the  Faculty. 

ARTHUR:  [after  a  pause]  That's  just  like  him. 
Always  first  to  follow  the  band  wagon.  And  he'll  expect 
me  to  welcome  him,  too,  with  open  arms.  Poor 
Raymond ! 

[He  exits  at  right.  Ida  begins  to  typewrite.  Clemens 

enters  at  left  with  coffee  things,  which  he  places  on 

the  table  by  the  sofa,  and  exits.    Evans  enters  at  left. 

He  is  twenty-seven,  timid,  nervous,  mild-mannered; 

wears  black-rimmed  nose  glasses  which  he  is  constantly 

removing  and  wiping.'] 

EVANS  :  Good  morning,  Miss  Ida.  [Ida  nods  shortly'} 
Is  the  professor ? 

IDA  :  The  master  will  soon  be  here. 

EVANS  :  [startled]  Of  course ;  that  is  whom  I  meant. 
[eagerly]  Have  you  spoken  to  him  about  it  yet? 

IDA:  About  what? 

EVANS:  [points  to  the  pile  of  newspapers']  Haven't 
you  seen  it?  It  is  equivalent  to  an  official  announce- 

20 


ment !  And  it  seems  to  me  that  on  such  an.  occasion  we 
might  contrive  in  some  way  to  ...  make  some  little 
demonstration  of  our  admiration  and  homage  for  the 
master.  Just  fancy,  Miss  Ida,  Professor  of  Surgery! 
And  for  three  years  they  wouldn't  grant  him  the  degree 
of  simple  doctor.  .  .  .  [sees  that  she  takes  no  notice; 
gulps;  starts,  again]  Miss  Ida,  it  is  a  triumph,  too,  for 
all  of  us — in  a  certain  sense.  When  the  master  was  in 
disrepute  it  was  a  reflection,  you  know,  on  all  of  us, 
and 

IDA  :  Oh,  you  are  always  being  belittled !  [goes  to  the 
cabinet,  takes  out  a  ledger  and  looks  into  it.] 

EVANS:  [reproachfully]  Why  do  you  say  that, 
Miss  Ida? 

IDA  :  [closes  the  ledger,  replaces  it,  closes  the  door  of 
the  cabinet]  Oh,  nothing. 

EVANS:  Well,  isn't  this  a  great  honor;  a  complete 
justification  for  us  all? 

IDA:  Then  why  on  earth  are  you  so  melancholy 
about  it? 

EVANS  :  It's  only  my  manner,  Miss  Ida.  I  can't  help 
it,  you  know. 

IDA:  Yes,  I  know,  [passes  him  with  her  head 
averted;  returns  to  the  little  table.  Evans  looks  after 
her  sorrowfully.] 

EVANS  :  If  you  only  would  have  a  little  patience  with 

me,  Miss  Ida    ...    it  would  be  easier  for  me  to 

[stops,  for  the  clatter  of  the  machine  disturbs  him. 

He  removes  his  glasses  and  wipes  them  before  he  con- 
tinues, nervously.] 

For  a  long  time  past  I  have  wanted  to  tell  you,  but  some- 
how ...  I  haven't  the  talent  for  expressing  myself 
...  I  have  hoped  that  if  you  could  [searches  for  a 

21 


word,  then  gives  it  up  with  a  sorrowful  laugh']    I  must 

sound  ridiculous.    After  what  the  master  said 

[stops  as  he  hears  footsteps,  and  withdraws  a  pace 

or  two.  Ida  stops  typewriting.  Arthur  enters  at  right, 

fully  dressed,  pours  himself  some  coffee,  and  sits  on 

the  sofa  to  drink  it.    Then  he  sees  Evans  for  the  first 

time.] 

ARTHUR  :  The  lovers !  Well,  when  will  ihe  wedding  be  ? 

EVANS:  [stammering]  Yes,  we  should  like  .  .  . 
that  is  /  should  like 

ARTHUR:  [opens  a  newspaper]  You  two  give  me  a 
pain!  How  far  have  you  progressed,  doctor? 

EVANS:  [with  a  bashful  glance  at  Ida]  Well,  you 
see  ...  Miss  Ida  .  .  .  has  not 

ARTHUR:  No,  no!  Time  enough  for  that.  I  am 
talking  about  the  analysis. 

EVANS:  Oh!  that,  master?    It  is  progressing  nicely. 

ARTHUR:  It  has  been  progressing  nicely  for  quite  a 
time,  but  I  don't  see  any  results. 

EVANS  :  I  haven't  spent  as  much  time  on  it  as  I  should 
have  liked  to.  I  have  been  kept  quite  busy,  you  see, 
about  the  hospital. 

ARTHUR:  Don't  you  worry  about  the  hospital.  How 
often  must  I  tell  you  that  you  will  never  be  a  surgeon  ? 
You  may  have  head  enough,  but  it  is  the  hand  you  lack. 
The  moment  I  laid  eyes  on  you  I  knew  you  were  a  born 
theoretical  man.  Stick  to  your  theory,  doctor.  Work 
on  your  book,  analyze,  explain,  expound  my  method, 
write  a  learned  treatise  on  it;  tell  them  who  I  am  and 
what  I  can  do — that's  your  line.  Take  my  advice  and 
stick  to  it.  I  know  what's  best  for  you. 

EVANS:  I  know  you  do,  master,  and  I  am  extremely 
grateful.  But  I  am  not  certain 

22 


ARTHUR:  Of  course  you're  not.  That's  your  trouble. 
You  would  like  to  do  things,,  but  you  are  afraid  this, 
and  perhaps  that,  and  so  you  fritter  your  life  away.  Be 
firm.  Make  up  your  mind — and  keep  it  made  up. 
That  is  the  only  way.  Take  Miss  Ida  for  example.  It 
was  the  same  story.  She  had  all  sorts  of  conflicting 
notions  about  careers  and  noble  things  like  that 

IDA:  [bitterly]  You  put  them  out  of  my  head  in 
short  order. 

ARTHUR:  And  today  you  are  better  off  for  it. 

IDA:  [sorrowfully']    Yes. 

ARTHUR:  [marking  her  tone}  It  hurts  at  first  to  give 
up  one's  ambitions — silly  as  they  may  be.  That's 
human  nature.  But  the  whole  secret  of  success  is  to 
find  out  what  you  can  do  best,  and  do  that  alone.  You 
were  a  poor,  lonely  musician,  with  vague  ambitions  to 
become  a  virtuoso.  Today  you  are  a  remarkably  com- 
petent secretary.  Renunciation  is  what  we  all  must 
learn.  Don't  look  at  me  so  wonderingly.  I — I  am 
different.  All  people  are  not  alike.  And  what  is  more, 
perhaps  I,  too,  practice  renunciation — in  my  fashion. 

EVANS:  What  you  say  is  quite  true,  of  course;  and  I 
shall  exert  myself 

ARTHUR:  That's  right.  Exert  yourself;  but  more 
quickly. 

EVANS:  I  will  do  my  utmost,  professor;  you  may 
rely  on  that. 

ARTHUR  :  No.  Let  us  stick  to  master.  In  more  formal 
society  you  may  call  me  professor,  if  you  like,  but  here, 
between  ourselves,  the  old  name  will  do  very  well,  thank 
you.  .  .  .  My  dear  doctor,  I  cured  some  two  thousand 
supposedly  incurable  cripples  and  the  learned  gentlemen 
of  the  city  refused  me  the  degree  of  simple  doctor,  but 
called  me  a  quack  and  a  faker.  Now,  because  I  have 

23 


straightened  out  the  hip  of  the  son  of  a  millionaire  poli- 
tician I  am  transformed  over  night  into  a  professor  of 
surgery.  Isn't  it  amusing?  And  isn't  it  a  striking  ex- 
ample of  the  emptiness  of  honors  and  titles  in  this 
world?  No,  doctor,  we  don't  need  their  high-sounding 
names.  One  becomes  a  professor  over  night  you  see; 
but  one  must  have  been  born  a  master  and  proved  it  by 
the  work  of  one's  brain  and  hand. 

IDA:  Here  is  the  list.  I  am  going  out  to  post  these 
letters,  [exits  at  left.] 

ARTHUR:  [picks  up  the  list  and  glances  over  it] 
Take  that  little  girl  for  example.  She  has  succeeded 
because  she  listened  to  reason.  Now,  if  she  had  fol- 
lowed her  own  inclinations  .  .  .  She  was  barely 
twenty  when  she  came  to  me,  and  stuffed  full  of  lofty 
ideals  about  her  Art  and  the  like.  But  I  said:  "Non- 
sense! You  have  no  talent  for  music.  Stay  here."  And 
she  obeyed  me.  .  .  .  How  are  you  two  getting  on? 

EVANS  :  I  ardently  hope  that  Miss  Ida 

ARTHUR:  Stop  hoping  and  do  something.    You  two 

were  made  for  each  other.    Get  married.    Then  you  can 

go  about  your  scientific  researches  in  peace,  and  she  can 

keep  on  with  her  work.    What  better  can  you  wish? 

EVANS:  You  must  have  a  little  patience  with  me, 

master.    I  want  to  follow  your  advice    .    .    .    only 

[stops,  embarrassed.] 
ARTHUR:  Only  what? 
EVANS  :  Only  it  is    .    .    .    I  mean  it  must  be  handled 

very  delicately,  because   I   am  not  certain [stops, 

embarrassed.] 
ARTHUR:  [impatiently]     Of  what? 

[Dr.  Rokoro  enters  rapidly  from  left;  hesitates,  as 
if  lie  fears  he  is  intruding.  He  is  Japanese;  twenty- 
four;  smooth,  thick,  black  hair;  broad  forehead;  his 

24 


high  arched  brows  and  enormous  silver-rimmed  spec- 
tacles give  his  face  a  quizzical,  owlish  appearance. 
His  English  is  correct,  but  marred  by  a  pronounced 
Japanese  accent.  When  excited  he  speaks  discon- 
nectedly, in  short,  hesitating  words  and  phrases.  He 
is  dressed  in  American  fashion,  very  correctly.] 

EVANS:  First   I  must  be  certain — certain  that 

[stops  as  he  sees  Rokoro.] 

ARTHUR  :  [To  Rolcoro]  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment, 
little  doctor,  [to  Evans]  Well,  what  is  it  you  are  not 
certain  of  ?  Quickly ! 

EVANS:  I — I  must  first  be  sure  that  Miss  Ida 

[looks  bashfully  at  Rokoro,  who  thereupon  starts  dis- 
creetly to  retire.] 

ARTHUR:  Wait!  Stay  where  you  are,  little  doctor. 
[impatiently;  to  Evans]  This  is  no  secret.  What  you 
are  trying  to  say  is  that  you  are  not  sure  she  loves  you. 
[Evans  nods]  But  I  have  spoken  to  her,  and  she  is  satis- 
fied to  marry  you.  What  more? 

EVANS:  [mournfully]    Still 

ARTHUR:  Well?  [Rokoro  withdraws  to  the  book- 
shelves; pretends  to  read.] 

EVANS  :  [softly]  Master,  you  know  I  trust  you.  I 
have  obeyed  you  in  all  things,  often  at  a  sacrifice — of 
certain  plans  and  .  .  .  hopes  that  I  cherished  dearly. 
.  .  .  Yet,  in  a  matter  of  this  sort  .  .  .  which  con- 
cerns my  whole  life's  happiness  .  .  .  should  I  not 
.  .  must  I  not  consult  my  own  feelings  before 
anyone's  else? 

ARTHUR:  And  your  own  feelings? 
EVANS  :  My  feelings  ?    Long  before  you  spoke  to  me 
I  cared  for  Miss  Ida    .    .    .    very  much. 
ARTHUR:  Well,  then? 
EVANS  :  Yes,  but [pauses.] 

25 


ARTHUR:  But? 

EVANS:  [WtM  a  burst  of  courage}  But  upon  no  con- 
sideration will  I  have  her  if  I  must  feel  that  she  marries 
me  because  you  wish  it,  and  not  of  her  own  free  will. 

ARTHUR:  You  are  a  fool.  [in  a  kindlier  voice]  You 
are  suited  to  each  other.  That  is  why  you  should  marry. 
Never  mind  the  rest.  When  a  man  marries,  doctor,  he 
realizes  himself  for  the  first  time — especially  a  man  like 
you.  You  are  not  the  strong  sort;  you  can't  get  on 
alone.  Just  what  is  the  difficulty  in  your  mind? 
Temperamentally  the  girl  and  you  suit  each  other. 
Moreover,  she  is  intelligent  and  loyal 

EVANS:  Yes. 

ARTHUR:  But  you  demand  that  she  be  delirious  with 
love  of  you.  Hot!  She  likes  you.  She  will  work  with 
you.  Nothing  else  matters.  [approaches  Evans] 
Courage,  doctor.  You  want  the  girl.  Don't  be  too  par- 
ticular about  the  quality  of  her  affections.  For  if  she 
doesn't  love  you  the  worst  that  can  happen  is  that  some 
day — I  don't  believe  it;  she  is  too  sensible — but  let  us 
suppose,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  she  will  take  a 
fancy  to  someone  else.  [Evans  shudders]  Well,  well, 
it's  possible  you  know.  But  why  should  that  make  you 
afraid?  If  it  happens,  pay  no  attention  to  it.  [shakes 
Evans  good-naturedly]  Come,  man,  don't  put  such  a 
serious  face  on  it.  It  hasn't  happened  yet,  you  know. 
[releases  him]  Seriously,  it  wouldn't  be  such  a  tragedy. 
Take  me,  for  instance.  You  know  of  my  ... 
escapades — Lord  knows  you  chatter  about  them  enough 
around  here.  Well,  they  haven't  made  my  wife  any  the 
less  happy.  No,  doctor,  infidelity  of  that  sort  will  not 
spoil  your  marriage,  [turns  away.] 

EVANS:  Isn't  it  time  to  get  things  ready  for  the 
operation  ? 

26 


ARTHUR:  Yes. 

EVANS:  [goes  to  the  door;  then  returns']  I  do  not 
wish  you  to  think  me  ungrateful,  master. 

ARTHUR:  Don't  worry  about  that. 

EVANS:  I  am  greatly  in  your  debt.  I  don't  wish  to 
appear  ungrateful. 

ARTHUR:  One  thing  more.  If  you  should  marry,  I 
prefer  to  continue  calling  her  Miss  Ida.  I  am  used  to 
that  name;  and  it  would  be  awkward  for  me  to  begin 
calling  her  Mrs.  Ida  or  Mrs.  Evans.  You  have  no  objec- 
tion to  that? 

EVANS:  [smiles]    No,  master. 

ARTHUR  :  Thank  you.  Now  get  busy.  [ Evans  exits  at 
left]  Well,  little  doctor,  there  was  something  more  for 
your  notebook. 

ROKORO  :  [closes  the  book;  conies  down,  grinning] 
Most  interesting !  Brave  man,  brave ! 

ARTHUR  :  He  came  to  me  penniless,  but  with  a  Johns 
Hopkins  degree.  It  was  brave  of  him  to  cast  his 
fortunes  with  a  quack. 

ROKORO  :  [rubs  his  hands]   Ho,  ho,  ho ! 

ARTHUR:  Now  that  fellow  will  make  something  of 
himself  in  time.  He's  an  awful  ass  now,  you  see,  but  I'll 
put  some  sense  in  his  head. 

ROKORO  :  [protests]  Oh,  no ! 

ARTHUR:  Don't  you  think  it  is  possible? 

ROKORO  :  Yes,  yes,  too  possible.  But  it  would  not  be 
good.  Better  to  remain  as  he  is.  He  is  quite  right. 

ARTHUR  :  How  do  you  mean  he  is  right  ? 

ROKORO  :  If,  as  he  believes,  the  lady  does  not  love 
him 

ARTHUR  :  And  that  is  fatal,  from  your  Oriental  point 
of  view 

27 


EOKORO:  [grins  broadly]  From  my  primitive  point 
of  view. 

ARTHUR:  Precisely.  You  can't  be  expected  to  see  it 
in  the  right  light. 

EOKORO  :  No,  no.  You  make  a  mistake,  master.  The 
people  of  the  West  and  the  people  of  the  East  .  .  . 
just  the  same  .  .  .  under  their  skins.  Every  kind 
of  people  have  emotions  .  .  .  must  have  emotions. 
You  try  to  substitute  reason  .  .  .  What  you  call  it? 
.  .  .  Utility!  But  it  does  not  go  .  .  .  It  is  false, 
false. 

ARTHUR:  What  can  you  Orientals  know  of  reason, 
utility  ?  You  are  dreamers.  We  ?  We  have  rubbed  the 
sleep  out  of  our  eyes  and  are  awake. 

EOKORO:  You  try  to  change  yourself  .  .  .  to  be 
something  else  .  .  .  with  your  reason  [shakes  him- 
self, grinning]  New  people!  .  .  .  But  it  does  not 
work  .  .  .  never  .  .  .  cannot  be  done. 

ARTHUR  :  So  that  is  what  you  have  decided,  you  little 
spy.  You  nose  around  here,  observing  everything,  tak- 
ing notes  of  everything;  but  secretly  I  believe  that  you 
are  laughing  at  us  all  the  time. 

EOKORO  :  [quickly]   But,  no    ...    I  do  not  laugh. 

ARTHUR  :  Don't  lie ! 

EOKORO  :  It  is  true,  master. 

ARTHUR:  Your  Government  sent  you  here  to  study. 
Why  don't  you  ? 

EOKORO  :  But  I  do  learn. 

ARTHUR:  Not  a  thing.  You  are  only  having  a  good 
time. 

EOKORO:  Indeed,  master,  I  learn  ...  I  marvel 
.  .  .  days  at  a  time. 

ARTHUR  :  f mocking  him]  Days  at  a  time !  What,  for 
instance  ?  What  do  you  marvel  at  ?  Quickly ! 

28 


ROKORO:  [at  a  loss  for  the  moment]  Er — the  poli- 
ticians. How  many  there  are  .  .  .  for  instance. 
[Arthur  laughs]  And  also  .  .  .  also 

ARTHUR  :  Also  ?    Can't  think  of  anything  else  ? 

ROKORO  :  You  always  confuse  me.  But  it  is  not  to  be 
denied  that  there  are  a  great  many  things  to  learn  here. 
Inventions  .  .  .  discoveries  .  .  .  science  .  .  . 
marvellous !  But [pulls  his  ear  thoughtfully.'] 

ARTHUR  :  Well,  out  with  it. 

ROKORO  :  You  people  of  the  West  have  discovered 
everything  except  .  .  .  except  how  to  be  happy. 

ARTHUR:  [ironically]   And  you? 

ROKORO  :  [very  earnestly]  We  discovered  it  long  ago 
.  .  .  very  long  ago  .  .  .  while  you  were  worrying 
about  your  Utility  .  .  .  your  false  Utility. 

ARTHUR  :  No,  little  doctor,  we  have  ceased  to  strive  for 
what  you  call  happiness.  That  is  where  we  are  in 
advance  of  you.  Our  discoveries!  Pah!  They  are 
nothing — yet.  But  we  have  succeeded  in  making  our- 
selves more  than  -mere  functions,  impulses,  emotions  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Look  around  you,  little 
spy,  and  see.  Most  of  us  are  not  so  badly  off  because  of 
this  utility  of  ours,  are  we? 

ROKORO:  Who  can  say?  You  think  you  live  wisely. 
.  .  .  I  think  you  are  only  practical  instead  of  wise. 
Take  yourself,  for  instance  .  .  .  your  marriage. 

ARTHUR:  My  marriage? 

ROKORO  :  [abashed]  Not  so !  ...  I  am  stupid. 
.  I  did  no  mean  that,  [solicitously]  Are  you 
angry? 

ARTHUR  :  Of  course  not.  What  were  you  going  to  say  ? 

ROKORO:  You  tell  Dr.  Evans  he  should  marry  Miss 
Ida  because  .  .  .  because  they  fit  each  other  .  .  . 
just  like  to  say  this  wheel  fits  with  this  wheel,  and  so 

29 


the  thing  must  go.  [illustrates  with  his  fingers]  But 
marriage  is  not  a  clock  where  the  wheels  must  turn 
.  .  .  No  .  .  .  people  are  not  wheels  .  .  .  You 
cannot  anticipate  how  they  will  turn  .  .  .  They 
themselves  do  not  know  how  they  will  turn,  [wipes  his 
brow]  Difficult  in  English. 

ARTHUR:  You  started  to  say  something  about  my 
marriage. 

ROKORO:  [evading  the  question]  Suppose  Miss  Ida 
marries  with  Dr.  Evans  because  her  reason  says  it  will 
be  convenient  .  .  .  and  suppose  if  some  day  her 
heart  should  choose  another  man. 

ARTHUR  :  That  may  happen. 

ROKORO  :  But  it  would  be  terrible.  For  then  he  would 
have  to  kill  her. 

ARTHUR  :  Nothing  so  tragic  as  that.  Reasonable  men 
do  not  kill  on  such  trifling  provocation. 

ROKORO  :  You  call  it  trifling  .  .  .  if  a  wife  gives 
herself  to  another. 

ARTHUR:  It's  annoying,  I  suppose,  but  then  it's 
human  nature.  And  a  wife  can  be  unfaithful  and  still 
be  a  good  wife. 

ROKORO  :  [shakes  his  head  wonderingfy]  So  ?  Not 
kill  her  ?  Adore  her  ? 

ARTHUR  :  Not  so  much  adore  as  be  tolerant. 

ROKORO:  Most  interesting! 

ARTHUR:  Don't  forget  to  make  a  note  of  that. 

ROKORO  :  Ho,  ho,  ho ! 

[Katherine  enters  at  left.] 

ARTHUR:  [to  Katherine]    Everything  ready? 

KATHERINE:  Not  quite.  Miss  Ida  will  call  you. 
IRoTcoro  shakes  hands  with  her]  Good  morning-,  Doctor 
Rokoro.  [to  Arthur]  Is  that  model  finished? 

ARTHUR:  Yes.    [goes  to  the  table.] 

30 


KATHERINE  :  [to  Rokoro]  Have  you  two  been  wrang- 
ling again? 

ROKORO  :  [rubs  his  hands,  grinning}  Most  interesting ! 

ARTHUR:  [comes  between  them,  carrying  an  ortho- 
pedic model]  Out  of  the  way,  seducer ! 

ROKORO  :  [steps  back,  laughing]     Ho,  ho ! 

ARTHUR:  He  has  entirely  lost  his  sense  of  shame. 
[shows  Katherine  the  model.] 

ROKORO  :  Don't  believe  him.    .    .    .    Not  a  word ! 

ARTHUR  :  Is  it  all  right  ? 

KATHERINE:  [considering  the  model]    I  suppose  so. 

ARTHUR:  [Indicates  something  on  the  model]  Here; 
isn't  that  what  you  meant? 

KATHERINE:  Exactly,  thank  you. 

ARTHUR  :  The  thanks  are  due  to  you.  I  wonder  how 
you  came  to  think  of  it.  [touches  her  chin;  she  draws 
back]  Why,  I  haven't  kissed  you  this  morning. 

[He  kisses  her  cheek.     She  receives  his  kiss  with 

closed  eyes  and  compressed  lips.    He  releases  her  and 

turns  to  RoTcoro  with  the  model.'] 

See  this,  little  doctor;  it  would  never  have  occurred 
to  me.  But  Katherine  thinks  my  thoughts  better  than 
I  do.  You  consider  that  before  you  speak  against  my 
marriage  again.  [Katherine  looks  sharply  at  Rokoro^] 

ROKORO  :  [earnestly]     Do  not  believe  him 
Lies!     .     .     .     Awful! 

ARTHUR:  Why,  he  has  reasoned  it  out  that  our  mar- 
riage is  altogether  wrong. 

KATHERINE:  [quietly,  intensely;  to  Rokoro]  What 
do  you  know  .  .  .  about  that? 

ROKORO  :  No,  no    ...    believe  me    ...    we  spoke 

abstractly    .    .    .    not  about [turns  appealingly  to 

Arthur]     You  must  tell  her,  master     .     .     She  will 
think 

31 


ARTHUR  :  What  a  tragic  face  you  put  on  it,  dear !  We 
were  only  joking,  of  course. 

KATHERINE:  {bitterly']    Of  course. 

ARTHUR  :  You  two  are  very  much  alike, — you  take 
yourselves  so  seriously. 

ROKORO:  No  .  .  .  but  one  must  be  serious  about 
some  things. 

KATHERINE  :  [with  quiet  irony]     Not  the  master. 

ARTHUR:  No,  not  I. 

KATHERINE:  But  we  can't  all  be  like  you.  We  are 
only  small  people, — small  and  ludicrous. 

ARTHUR:  Offended? 

KATHERINE:  No,  I've  had  seven  years  within  which 
to  get  used  to  it. 

ARTHUR:  Don't  blame  me  for  being  as  I  am.  The 
fact  is  that  my  brother,  who  is  soon  to  honor  us  with  his 
presence,  took  all  the  seriousness  in  our  family.  He 
took  so  much  there  was  none  left  for  me.  But  ever 
since  he  has  been  serious  enough  for  both  of  us. 

ROKORO:  Poor  lady!  It  is  impossible  to  talk  with 
him.  [Ida  enters  at  left.] 

IDA:  Everything  is  ready. 

KATHERINE:  Very  well.     [She  exits  at  left.] 

ARTHUR:  [throws  away  his  cigarette]  All  right. 
[stretches  himself.'] 

ROKORO  :  Do  you  want  me  to  help  you  today  ? 

ARTHUR:  I  always  want  you.  You  are  a  poor  phil- 
osopher, but  as  a  surgeon  there  is  hope  for  you. 

[They  exit  together  at  left.     Ida  begins  to  work, 

stops  to  reflect,  begins  again,  then  springs  up  and 

goes  to  the  window,  which  she  opens.     For  a  short 

time  she  stands  there,  looking  out.     Clemens  enters 

from  left,  removes  the  coffee  things.'] 

IDA  :  Is  Mrs.  Wessley  in  the  operating  room  ? 

32 


CLEMENS:  Yes,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA:  Dr.  Evans,  too? 

CLEMENS:  No.    The  master  won't  have  him  there. 

IDA  :  When  the  people  from  the  city  come  show  them 
in  here.  [Evans  enters  from  left,  carrying  a  ledger 
which  he  places  on  the  little  table]  Have  you  told  the 
cook  to  prepare  for  five  extra  at  luncheon  ? 

CLEMENS:  Four,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA  :  No,  five.    Mr.  Thompson  is  sure  to  come,  too. 

CLEMENS:  Yes,  yes.  I  will  tell  the  cook,  [exits  at 
left  with  the  coffee  things.] 

EVANS  :  I  have  brought  you  the  journal,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA  :  [at  the  window]    Very  well. 

EVANS  :  Have  you  a  moment  to  spare  for  me  now  ? 

IDA  :  Why  aren't  you  in  the  operating  room  ? 

EVANS:  The  master  told  me  to  bring  the  journal  in 
here. 

IDA  :  Why  do  you  let  him  treat  you  like  a  servant  ? 

EVANS  :  He  says  I  make  him  nervous  with  my  anxious 
haste.  I  can't  seem  to  get  used  to  operations. 

IDA  :  Next  thing  you  know  you  will  be  sweeping  floors 
and  serving  tea. 

EVANS:  That's  unkind,  Miss  Ida.  You  know  the 
master  wants  me  for  the  theoretical  work. 

IDA:  That's  what  he  tells  you.  It  amuses  him  to 
dominate  you  and  bewilder  you,  to  make  you  believe  that 
nothing  is  anything — but  that  he  is  everything. 

EVANS:  [aghast]  Do  you  really  think  that  of  him? 
Do  you  mean  it? 

IDA  :  [passionately]  He  handles  us  as  he  handles  his 
instruments — you,  me,  his  wife,  everyone.  He  knows 
best  what  we  are;  he  knows  best  what  we  can  do;  he 
knows  best  how  we  should  act.  And  we  believe  and 
obey  him.  [bitterly]  And  now  it  suits  him  for  us  to 

33 


marry,  and  at  once  you  obediently  fall  in  love  with  me. 
[comes  impatiently  down  to  the  little  table.] 

EVANS:  No,  Miss  Ida,  you  shouldn't  say  that.  If  I 
only  ...  I  am  so  clumsy  and  inexperienced  in  such 
things  ...  I  get  confused.  Please  believe  me,  Miss 
Ida,  the  very  first  moment  I  saw  you  ...  I  ... 
I  loved  you.  Only  I  would  never  have  dared  to  speak 
.  .  .  If  he  hadn't  suggested  it. 

IDA:  [looks  at  him  searchingly]     I  can  scarcely  be- 
lieve it.    But,  no, — I  can  believe  you. 
EVANS:  Please  believe  me,  Miss  Ida. 
IDA:  [covers  her  face  with  her  hands;  then  raises 
her  head  again']      That  will  make  it  easier  for  me. 
[nervously]     Only  time!     He  must  give  me  a  little 
time.    He  doesn't  know  how  hard  he  is  on  us.     [more 
calmly]     Perhaps  I  will.     Just  give  me  a  little  time 
to  consider. 

EVANS  :  [gently]  I  had  not  dreamed  of  hurrying  you, 
Miss  Ida.     [after  a  pause]    May  I  ask  you  something? 
IDA  :  [hesitates;  looks  at  him  a  bit  furtively]    Yes. 
EVANS:  I  have  often  wondered    .    .    .    when  I  saw 
you  with  the  master,  or  sometimes  when  we  talked  about 
him .     I  really  don't  know  what  to  think.     Some- 
times you  won't  let  anyone  say  a  word  against  him; 
and  then  again  sometimes  I  wonder  whether  you  don't 
actually  hate  him. 

IDA  :  Is  that  what  you  wanted  to  ask  me  ? 
EVANS:  Yes. 

IDA:  Perhaps  I  do  hate  him.  Because  I  know  him. 
I  think  I  am  the  only  one  who  does  know  him.  When 
he  is  not  intimidating  us  he  is  laughing  at  us.  And  when 
the  master  laughs  it  makes  him  strong.  That  sounds 
strange,  doesn't  it?  But  oh,  how  strong  the  masters 
laughter  makes  him!  And  he  laughs  at  everything. 

34 


That  is  why  nobody  can  be  very  much  to  him.  He  can't 
love  anything  very  much — except  himself,  [looks  Evans 
squarely  in  the  eyes]  And  now  you  may  ask  me  the 
question  you  really  wanted  to  ask. 

EVANS  :  [quietly]     I  have  nothing  more  to  ask. 

IDA  :  [relieved]    That  was  all  ? 

EVANS  :  Yes,  Miss  Ida.  I  used  to  wonder  if  it  were 
possible  that  a  woman  who  had  been  close  to  him  could 
ever  care  for  another  man. 

IDA:  [with  an  ironical  little  laugh]  He  takes  care 
of  that. 

EVANS  :  [after  a  pause]    I  shall  be  patient,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA:  There  is  but  one  thing  I  demand.  You  must 
trust  me.  You  must  have  faith  that  I  am  devoted  to  you 
no  matter  what  happens — or  has  happened — otherwise 


EVANS  :  I  do  trust  you,  Miss  Ida. 
IDA:  Then — perhaps 

[Sighs  deeply;  buries  her  face  in  her  hands.  Evans 
goes  slowly  to  the  window  and  looTcs  out,  Ida  com- 
poses herself,  raises  her  head,  looks  around  at  Evans, 
then  begins  to  typewrite.  For  a  short  time  only  the 
clicking  of  the  machine  is  heard.  Clemens  enters  at 
left,  showing  in  Dr.  Klauder,  a  little,  old  man  with 
a  ruddy,  good-natured  countenance  and  smooth,  white 
hair.] 

CLEMENS  :  The  people  from  the  city.    [Klauder  lows 
to  Ida  and  Evans.] 

IDA:  [rises]     Good  morning,  Dr.  Klauder. 

[Juliet  and  Raymond  enter.  She  is  about  forty; 
richly  but  not  fashionably  dressed;  her  face  is  frigid 
and  her  manner  hostile.  She  looks  about  the  room 
curiously  and  scrutinizes  Ida  sharply.  Raymond  is 

35 


about  forty-three.    His  eyes  are  restless  and  evasive; 

his  voice  slow  and  precise.] 

EVANS  :  [to  Klauder]  I  am  Dr.  Evans,  assistant  to 
Professor  Wessley. 

[Peter  Brookson  enters.    He  is  about  fifty;  stout, 

jovial;  wears  a  frock  coat  that  fits  him  badly;  carries 

a  high  silk  hat  in  his  hand.  Ida  whispers  to  Clemens, 

who  exits  left.'] 

JULIET:  [to  Ida]  Is  this  the  professor's  study ?  [she 
puts  a  sarcastic  intonation  on  the  tvord.] 

IDA:  Yes,  Mrs.  Wessley,  study  and  office. 

EVANS:  [to  Raymond  and  Brookson]  I  am  Dr. 
Evans.  [Raymond  bows  coldly.] 

BROOKSON:  [shakes  hands  heartily]  Glad  to  know 
ye,  doctor. 

JULIET:  [to  Ida]  And  do  you  stay  in  this  room  all 
the  time? 

IDA:  I  am  his  secretary. 

RAYMOND:  [to  Evans]  So  you  are  the  young  man 
who  attached  himself  to  my  brother  despite  the  repudia- 
tion of  him  by  every  medical  school? 

EVANS  :  I  am,  sir. 

KLAUDER:  Isn't  it  best  to  forget  the  old  difficulties 
now? 

JULIET  :  [to  Ida]  And  doesn't  he  mind  having  you 
around  all  the  time? 

IDA:  He  hasn't  mentioned  it. 

EVANS:  I  shall  see  that  Mrs.  Wessley  is  notified  you 
are  here. 

JULIET:  [nudging  Raymond]  Do  you  hear  that, 
Raymond  ? 

EVANS  :  Will  you  excuse  me  ?    [exits  at  left] 

JULIET:  Your  brother  has  a  female  secretary.  Isn't 
it  original  ? 

36 


BROOKSON:  [admiring  the  room}  He  certainly  has 
fixed  up  this  old  place  fine. 

EAYMOND  :  [to  Klauder}  We  shall  have  a  trying  half 
hour,  as  you  will  see.  My  brother  will  not  spare  our 
feelings. 

KLAUDER:  [sighs]  We  must  try  to  put  it  as  grace- 
fully as  possible. 

JULIET:  Yes,  Eaymond,  you  must  adapt  yourself  to 
circumstances. 

BROOKSON  :  I'm  mighty  glad  it  turned  out  this  way. 
He  is  a  great  surgeon,  gentlemen,  even  if  his  methods 
ain't  the  same  as  yours,  and  he  has  made  our  little  city 
famous  from  one  end  of  the  country  to  another.  It's 
funny,  but  when  a  stranger  comes  to  town  these  days, 
he  says,  "Oh,  this  is  the  town  where  Wessley's  hospital 
is."  Why,  damme,  gentlemen,  that  is  the  only  thing  our 
city's  noted  for! 

EAYMOND  :  Of  course,  it  is  a  great  joy  to  me  that  my 
brother  has  won  authoritative  recognition  at  last.  But 
I  know  he  will  not  forgive  me  for  the  opposition  I  was 
officially  forced  to  show  him. 

KLAUDER  :  Well,  well,  we  must  be  tactful.  [Katherine 
enters  at  left,  dressed  in  a  pretty  morning  gown.  The 
men  rise.] 

JULIET  :  [crosses  to  Katherine']  I  am  happy  to  meet 
you  at  last,  my  dear  sister-in-law.  I  have  always  wanted 
to  know  you. 

KATHERINE:  Nice  of  you  to  say  so.  Pray,  gentle- 
men, keep  your  seats. 

KLAUDER:  Thank  you.  [Katherine  sits  on  the  sofa. 
The  men  resume  their  places.] 

KATHERINE:  Miss  Ida,  will  you  be  good  enough  to 
see  that  Professor  Wessley  comes  here  as  soon  as  the 
operation  is  over? 

37 


JULIET  :  She  appears  to  be  a  very  useful  person. 

KATHERINE:  Very,  [turns  to  Klauder]  You  have 
no  idea,  Dr.  Klauder 

JULIET:  [interrupts]  Do  you  know,  I  have  always 
admired  you  greatly  for  your 

KATHERINE  :  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  [indicates  a  chair 
opposite  the  smaller  table.'] 

JULIET  :  [sits]  As  I  was  saying,  we  have  heard  what 
an  active  interest  you  take  in  your  husband's  work.  They 
say  you  are  a  veritable  good  fairy  to  the  sick. 

KATHERINE  :  I  deserve  no  praise  for  it,  Mrs.  Wessley. 
If  I  help  my  husband  it  is  because  his  work  interests  me. 

KLAUDER:  Then  I  suppose  your  husband's  latest 
triumph  pleases  you  as  much  as  him. 

KATHERINE:  I  find  it  a  bit  droll.  It's  like  a  page 
from  Moliere.  In  the  end  the  King  sends  his  messenger, 
and  everything  is  satisfactory. 

KLAUDER:  [laughs]    You  are  French,  Mrs.  Wessley? 

KATHERINE:  My  father  was  French,  but  my  mother 
was  Irish. 

KLAUDER:  Indeed? 

KATHERINE  :  And  I  was  born  and  educated  in  France. 

EAYMOND:  How  interesting! 

KATHERINE:  I  am  especially  glad  to  know  you,  Dr. 
Klauder,  because  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  many  pleasant 
hours. 

KLAUDER:  To  me? 

KATHERINE:  Last  Winter  Arthur  and  I  read  your 
delicious  book  together,  your  "Analysis  of  Nietzsche." 
I  don't  remember  ever  having  read  anything  that  pleased 
me  more. 

JULIET  :  May  I  look  around  a  bit  ?  Philosophy  is  tco 
complicated  a  subject  for  a  plain  woman  like  me. 
[crosses  to  the  big  table  and  examines  bric-a-brac.] 

38 


KLAUDER  :  Then  I  take  it  you  disagree  with  Nietzsche 
yourself. 

KATHERINE:  For  the  most  part.  But  Arthur  is  a 
warm  disciple  of  his. 

KAYMOND:  I  didn't  know  Arthur  had  studied  phil- 
osophy. He  ran  away  from  school  before  he  had  time 
to  learn  much. 

KATHERINE:  He  learned  a  great  many  things  with- 
out going  to  schools  for  them.  [Brookson  sniggers.'] 

JULIET:  [passes  to  the  photograph  of  Katherine  on 
the  mantel]  Just  look,  Raymond,  what  a  darling 
photograph.  [Raymond  crosses  to  her  and  looks  at 
photograph]  It's  just  too  sweet  for  anything.  So  girlish 
and  innocent !  Just  look,  Dr.  Klauder.  [she  crosses  to 
Klauder.]  - 

KLAUDER:  [looking  at  it]     It  is  indeed. 

KATHERINE  :  It  was  taken  a  long  time  ago. 

KLAUDER  :  How  old  were  you  then  ? 

KATHERINE:  Barely  sixteen.  It  was  about  the  time 
I  first  met  Arthur. 

JULIET:  [replacing  the  photograph  on  the  mantel] 
You  were  very  pretty — then.  [Thompson  enters  at  left. 
He  is  about  twenty-eight}  tall  and  handsome.] 

THOMPSON  :  I  read  of  your  good  fortune  in  the  news- 
papers, and  hurried  over  at  once. 

KATHERINE:  [nods  familiarly;  introduces]  Let  me 
present  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Thompson  .  .  .  Dr. 
Klauder.  [Thompson  comes  forward  to  shake  hands] 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  Wessley,  Arthur's  brother,  you 
know. 

THOMPSON:  [smiles  in  spite  of  himself  and  lows] 
Charmed,  I'm  sure.  [Juliet  nods  stiffly.] 

KATHERINE  :    [introduces]    His  honor,  the  Mayor. 

39 


BROOKSON:  [rises  'heavily']  Well,  we've  met  before. 
Don't  you  remember,  Thompson? 

THOMPSON  :  Yes.  You  wanted  me  to  be  a  candidate 
for  alderman. 

KATHERINE:  Fancy  you  in  politics. 

THOMPSON  :  Yes,  isn't  it  funny  ? 

BROOKSON  :  It  was  a  reform  party,  you  know. 

THOMPSON:  Well,  I've  never  owned  political  ambi- 
tions. And  what  is  more,  I  never  cared  the  least  bit 
about  my  fellow  citizens.  My  only  wish  is  that  they 
cared  as  little  about  me. 

RAYMOND  :  Not  very  altruistic,  Mr.  Thompson. 

THOMPSON:  That's  not  as  selfish  as  it  sounds.  The 
fact  is  I  have  my  own  affairs  to  worry  about  and  haven't 
time  to  think  of  other  people's  troubles. 

KATHERINE  :  [ironically]  The  poor  boy  lias  so  many 
cares! 

KLAUDER:  We  were  just  talking  about [breaks 

off  as  he  sees  Arthur  enter  at  left]     But  here  is 

[Raymond  and  Brookson  rise.] 

ARTHUR:  [comes  in  quickly]  Dr.  Klauder,  Mr. 
Mayor.  Oh,  Mr.  Thompson,  this  is  very  good  of  you. 
Do  keep  your  seats,  gentlemen. 

[Brookson  sits.     Arthur  crosses  to   the  fireplace. 

Rokoro,   who   has   entered   behind   Arthur,   remains 

standing  in  the  doorway.] 

ARTHUR:  [sees  his  brother]  Well!  And  you,  too! 
This  is  very  noble  of  you. 

RAYMOND  :  [cordially]  My  dear  Arthur,  I  wanted  to 
be  first 

ARTHUR:  [interrupts;  summons  Rokoro]  Little 
Doctor!  [introduces]  Gentlemen,  this  is  Dr.  Rokoro 
of  Japan.  His  government  sent  him  here  to  investigate 
the  medical  sciences.  He  is  now  my  chief  assistant. 

40 


Remarkable  fellow,  gentlemen!  Has  every  conceivable 
kind  of  degree,  yet  he  knows  a  thing  or  two.  And  this, 
Little  Doctor,  is  my  brother.  See  what  tricks  Nature 
does  play.  And  this  would  be  my  sister-in-law,  [nods 
at  Juliet  critically]  Yes;  I  knew  you  would  look 
like  that. 

EAYMOND:  [with  suppressed  anger]  You  are  just 
the  same  as  ever. 

ARTHUR:  Just  the  same.  It  never  did  suit  you,  did 
it?  You  must  pardon  me,  gentlemen,  for  having  kept 
you  waiting;  but  the  operation  took  longer  than  we  had 
anticipated,  and  afterwards  I  had  to  have  a  look  at 
Titus,  [to  Raymond]  Titus  is  my  dog,  you  know.  I 
introduced  myself  to  him  by  my  new  title — professor! 
And  what  do  you  suppose  ?  The  beast  wasn't  a  bit  im- 
pressed, [slaps  Brookson  on  the  back]  Well,  Mr. 
Mayor,  times  have  changed,  eh  ?  Do  you  remember  the 
day  you  threatened  to  send  the  police  to  clean  this 
place  out? 

BROOKSON:  I  was  under  pressure  at  the  time,  my 
dear  Professor. 

ARTHUR:  So? 

BROOKSOST:  You  don't  suppose  I  cared  personally 
whether  I  had  a  degree  or  not  to  run  a  hospital  with. 
No,  sir!  I  said  to  my  wife  at  the  time,  I  says,  "Maria," 
says  I,  "there's  something  to  that  fellow.  He's  going 
to  show  us  all  some  day."  And,  damme,  if  you  haven't 
gone  and  done  it,  too. 

KLAUDER  :  Hum !    My  worthy  professor,  may  I 

ARTHUR:  [turns  to  him]  You  and  I,  Doctor,  have 
too  keen  a  sense  of  humor  to  be  angry  with  each  other. 

KLAUDER:  You  are  very  gracious,  but  then  you  can 
afford  to  be.  Yours  was  not  the  first  genius  to  be 
misunderstood. 

41 


RAYMOND:  I  am  sorry,  Arthur,  that  you  are  still 
bitter  against  me,  but  you  should  try  to  understand  how 
unfortunately  I  was  situated. 

JULIET  :  There  was  his  public  office [rises.] 

RAYMOND:  And  you  came  determined  to  defy  au- 
thority and  practice  without  a  license. 

JULIET  :  That  made  it  very  awkward  for  us,  my  dear 
brother-in-law.  Consider  in  what  a  light  it  put  us. 

ARTHUR:  Won't  you  sit  down,  dear  sister-in-law. 

RAYMOND:  To  arrive  here  suddenly,  rent  this  old 
building,  take  in  sick  people 

ARTHUR:  And  cure  them. 

RAYMOND:  All  this  without  a  certificate,  without 
even  a  doctor's  degree — really,  if  you  consider  it  dis- 
passionately, you  must  concede  that  it  was  unlawful, 
and  that  I  was  forced  to  take  official  action.  Then,  too, 
remember  there  was  no  way  for  the  College  or  the  State 
Board  to  get  any  proof  of  your  fitness.  And  you  could 
scarcely  expect  us  to  believe  on  your  mere  word,  in  the 
virtue  of  this  new  treatment  of  yours  or  in  your 
miraculous  skill  in  applying  it. 

ARTHUR:  No. 

RAYMOND  :  Painful  though  it  was,  I  treated  you  with 
the  same  impartiality  I  would  have  shown  an  utter 
stranger.  That  was  my  duty.  My  conscience  is  clear. 

JULIET  :  So  it  is. 

ARTHUR:  [musingly]  You  always  could  manage  to 
keep  your  conscience  clear. 

BROOKSON  :  Damme,  we  all  make  mistakes.  What's  the 
use  of  diggin'  up  old  graves? 

KATHERINE:  No,  Mr.  Mayor,  I  believe  it  is  better 
to  talk  such  things  over;  otherwise  they  are  never 
forgotten. 

42 


ARTHUR:  [puts  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  affection- 
ately} That's  a  primitive  virtue,  my  dear — to  bury  the 
hatchet.  [Thompson  rises,  perceptibly  annoyed,  and 
crosses  to  the  window.  Katherine  disengages  herself 
lightly.'] 

RAYMOND:  I  am  deeply  grieved  that  it  has  been  so 
unpleasant  for  you. 

BROOKSON  :  And  now  we're  doin'  our  best  to  square  it. 

RAYMOND:  To  be  sure,  it  is  exasperating  to  be  mis- 
understood. 

ARTHUR:  [laughing]  No,  my  brother,  I  wasn't  ex- 
asperated, I  was  amused.  You  prosecuted  me  for 
practicing  without  a  degree.  I  proved  that  my  assistants 
were  physicians  of  standing,  and  thereafter  called 
myself  master  instead  of  doctor.  You  denounced  me  as 
a  quack  and  a  menace  to  public  health;  but  the  patients 
kept  coming  and  I  kept  curing  them.  Why  should  I 
have  been  exasperated?  It  was  funny.  The  pettiness 
of  small  minds  is  always  funny. 

RAYMOND:  Well,  I  had  hoped  that  you  had  buried 
the  old  enmities  and  forgotten  all  that 

ARTHUR  :  All  that  you  did  to  me. 

RAYMOND:  You  live  your  way,  I  live  mine — but, 
after  all,  we  are  brothers. 

ARTHUR  :  And  the  politicians  desire  it. 

RAYMOND  :  There  is  no  use  trying  to  reason  with  you. 
If  you  hate  me  so  much 

ARTHUR:  But,  my  dear  brother  [comes  slowly  up 
stage]  do  you  suppose  I  hate  you  ?  Far  from  it.  You 
are  only  my  bad  brother.  Life  wouldn't  have  been  com- 
plete without  you.  It  was  you  who  caused  me  to  run 
away  from  home,  and  so  it  is  partially  due  to  you  that 
I  have  made  myself  what  I  am.  You  and  father !  You 
with  your  envy  and  malice;  and  father  with  his  insane 

43 


desire  to  break  my  will.  All  that  I  know  of  philosophy 
I  learned  of  you  two.  But  there !  We  will  not  discuss 
the  old  things  any  more,  if  they  displease  you.  There ! 
[offers  his  hand.'] 

RAYMOND:  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  keeping 
up  old  feuds. 

ARTHUR:  [with  an  appraising  glance  at  Juliet]  You 
are  really  an  unlucky  devil,  after  all.  [goes  behind 
Katherine.] 

KLAUDER:  Professor,  I  am  sure  we  would  all  like  to 
look  around  the  hospital  that  we  have  slandered  so 
grievously  without  ever  having  seen  it.  Will  you  show 
us  through? 

ARTHUR:  With  pleasure. 

JULIET:  [wMspers  to  Raymond]  It's  shameful  the 
way  you  let  him  talk  to  you. 

KATHERINE:  Will  you  go,  too,  Mr.  Mayor?  [Brook- 
son  rises  and  joins  the  group  around  the  sofa.~\ 

RAYMOND:  What  could  I  do?  It  is  his  house,  and 
everyone  is  on  his  side  now. 

JULIET:  And  that  stuck-up  French  wife  of  his 

RAYMOND:  Hush!    They  may  hear  you. 

[He  joins  RoJcoro.    Thompson  has  been  standing  by 

the    larger    table,    watching    Katherine    anxiously. 

Juliet  joins  him.    They  talk  in  pantomime.] 

ARTHUR:  All  this,  my  dear,  can  happen  because  a 
millionaire's  son  has  a  game  leg.  This  way.  [Klauder 
and  Brookson  exit  at  left]  Are  you  coming,  brother? 

RAYMOND:  [to  Rokoro,  as  they  are  coming  up  left] 
He  hasn't  changed  a  particle.  A  man  is  lucky  who  can 
take  life  as  lightly  as  he. 

ROKORO:  Who  knows?  Perhaps  the  tragic  natures 
are  really  the  happiest,  [grins  and  rubs  hi-s  hands  as  he 
exits  left  with  Raymond.] 

44 


JULIET:  [to  Thompson']     Aren't  you  coming? 

THOMPSON:  I've  seen  the  place  so  often,  you  know. 

ARTHUR  :  Sweetest  of  sisters-in-law ! 

JULIET:  [joining  him;  sweetly']  I  was  just  talking 
to  your  neighbor,  Mr.  Thompson.  He  comes  to  see  you 
often,  doesn't  he? 

ARTHUR:  [leading  her  off]  Every  day,  dear  sister- 
in-law,  every  day. 

JULIET:  [looking  back  at  Thompson,  who  has  joined 
Katherine  at  the  sofa]  That  must  have  been  a  great 
consolation  to  you  in  those  lonely  days,  before  you  were 
recognized,  [Katherine  and  Thompson  listen]  especially 
to  your  dear  wife. 

ARTHUR:  [coolly  ironic]  Indeed,  dear  sister-in-law, 
I  don't  know  what  she  would  have  done  without  him. 
[exits  at  left,  after  her.] 

[Katherine  stares  after  them,  her  hands  clenched 

resentfully.     Presently  she  turns  to  Thompson,  her 

face  hard  and  defiant.] 

KATHERINE:  Jean,  do  you  still  want  me? 

THOMPSON:  [reproachfully;  half  sullenly]  You 
know  I  do. 

KATHERINE:  I  am  going  to  do  what  you  asked  me. 

THOMPSON:  [doubtfully]    When? 

KATHERINE:  Today — this  afternoon. 

THOMPSON:  [eagerly]  You  will  really  come  this 
afternoon  !  Oh,  Katherine !  [bends  over  her  hand  and 
kisses  it  tenderly.] 

KATHERINE:  [draws  her  hand  away;  rises  quickly] 
Come  let's  join  the  others.    We  musn't  stay  here  alone. 
Curtain 


45 


ACT  II 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  preceding  act. 

The  time  is  toward  evening  of  the  same  day. 

When  the  curtain  rises  Arthur  is  on  the  couch  asleep. 
Rapping  is  heard  at  the  door  off  left.  As  he  does  not 
stir,  the  rapping  grows  louder  and  more  insistent.  He 
awakes  with  a  start. 

ARTHUR:  Yes!     [not  quite  awake]     Oh!     Come  in. 

Is  it  time ?     [looks  at  the  clock]     Oh!     [sits  up 

and  stretches  himself.] 

[Clemens  enters  from  left,  with  coffee.] 

CLEMENS:  You  slept  soundly,  master,  I've  been 
rapping  for  ten  minutes. 

ARTHUR:  [yawns]  I  needed  that  nap.  [lights  a 
cigarette]  My  wife  returned  from  the  city  yet? 

CLEMENS:  Not  yet.  Didn't  you  hear  the  noise, 
master  ? 

ARTHUR:  What  noise? 

CLEMENS:  There's  been  a  lot  of  excitement  around 
here. 

ARTHUR:  What  about? 

CLEMENS,:  There  has  been  a  fire  at  the  villa. 

ARTHUR  :  Thompson's  house  ?    You  don't  say ! 

CLEMENS:  Yes,  sir.  They  telephoned  for  our  fire 
extinguishing  apparatus.  There  was  an  awful  excitement. 

ARTHUR:  Wasn't  the  alarm  turned  in  for  the  city 
fire  department? 

CLEMENS:  Yes,  sir;  but  our  people  got  there  first. 

ARTHUR:  Much  damage? 

46 


CLEMENS  :  We  don't  know,  master,  they  haven't  come 
back  yet.  We  could  see  the  flames  from  here. 

ARTHUR:  Why  didn't  you  wake  me? 

CLEMENS  :  Somebody  turned  on  our  fire-alarm.  The 
lady  in  No.  13  took  a  convulsion  and  all  the  sick  people 
were  frightened.  But  Dr.  Kokoro  and  Miss  Ida  quieted 
them  alright. 

ARTHUR:  I  hope  there  isn't  much  damage.  It  would 
be  a  pity  if  that  dainty  little  house  burned  down.  Tele- 
phone to  Thompson  and  find  out. 

CLEMENS:  I'll  try  it,  master,  but  I  think  the  wires 
are  down. 

[He  goes  to  the  door  at  left,  waits  until  Ida  has 

entered,  then  exits.    Ida  carries  a  chart.~\ 

ARTHUR:  Clemens  has  just  been  telling  me  how 
bravely  you  behaved,  but  you  should  have  awakened  me. 

IDA  :  It  really  wasn't  necessary.  Dr.  Rokoro  came  up 
at  once  and  calmed  all  the  patients.  He  told  them,  those 
funny  little  stories  of  his,  and  in  a  few  minutes  had 
them  all  laughing.  Why,  some  of  them  came  up  to  the 
tower  with  us.  We  could  see  the  fire  plainly  from  there. 
Here  is  the  chart. 

ARTHUR:  [lends  over  it,  makes  a  notation]  Perfect, 
Ida.  Why,  I  believe  you  could  run  the  whole  hospital 
yourself. 

IDA:  Scarcely  the  operations. 

ARTHUR:  Who  knows?  Before  long  you  may  take 
that  off  my  hands,  too. 

IDA  :  I  am  not  a  bit  ambitious  to  try  cutting  up  people. 

ARTHUR:  Aren't  you  a  bit  proud?  All  this  great 
work  of  curing  and  alleviating  the  sufferings  of  so  many 
unfortunate  people  to  be  held  in  your  own  little  hands. 
And  had  vou  gone  your  own  way  you  would  still  be 
playing  silly  exercises  on  a  piano ;  no  use  to  yourself  or 

47 


anyone  else.  Wasn't  I  right?  Be  honest,  [she  it 
silent]  Wasn't  I  ? 

IDA:  [reluctantly]  What  good  is  all  this  to  me?  It 
doesn't  make  me  happy.  You  took  from  me  all  the  faith 
I  ever  had  in  myself 

ARTHUR:  [at  the  sofa,  drinking  coffee,  unconcern^ 
edly]  Ah! 

IDA  :  And  all  my  hopes. 

ARTHUR:  [sipping]  They  were  false  hopes.  You 
had  no  real  talent. 

IDA  :  [sadly]  No,  for  if  I  had  you  couldn't  have  taken 
it  from  me.  No  doubt  you  were  right  about  me,  and 
about  Dr.  Evans,  too. 

ARTHUR:  What  of  him? 

IDA:  He,  too,  may  be  deluding  himself.  But  you 
shouldn't  press  him  too  hard.  Some  people  can't 
live  without  their  illusions.  As  for  me — I'm  not 
complaining. 

ARTHUR:  You  are  sulky,  which  is  worse. 

IDA:  You  might  allow  me  that  privilege. 

ARTHUR  :  But  you  know  I  don't  like  it.  I  can't  bear 
sulky  people  around  me.  Moreover,  you  have  no  cause 
to  be  sulky.  I  don't  know  what  is  ailing  you.  You 
used  to  be  different  altogether. 

IDA:  Many  things  used  to  be  different. 

ARTHUR:  \goes  to  the  window,  crossly]  Oh!  If  you 
are  going  to  begin  about  that! 

IDA  :  I  am  not  beginning  about  that. 

ARTHUR:  I  would  have  thought  that  you  could  be 
more  reasonable. 

IDA:  [reproachfully]  We  can't  all  take  things  so 
lightly  as  you. 

ARTHUR:  You  are  a  child,  and  I  took  you  for  a 
woman.  Have  I  deceived  you?  What  did  I  promise 

48 


you?  You  knew  me.  You  had  been  in  my  house  two 
years.  Lord !  If  I  wasn't  constant  to  my  wife — to 
whom  I  am  attached  through  our  work,  and  through, 
well,  through  a  totally  different  feeling — how  could  you 
have  expected  me  to  be  constant  to  you.  I  am  not  con- 
stant. Make  up  your  mind  to  that.  Nor  am  I  affec- 
tionate. I  haven't  the  time  to  be.  And  if  you  are 
going  to  be  sullen  and  reproachful  and  tearful  about 
it,  please  do  it  when  I  am  not  around,  [stalks  angrily 
across  the  room.] 

IDA:  [frightened  by  his  outburst]  I  have  tried  not 
to  look  reproachful. 

ARTHUR:  Well,  you  haven't  succeeded,  {after  a 
pause,  more  kindly]  Really,  Ida,  there  is  no  sense  in 
this  sort  of  thing.  You  are  pitying  yourself  for  nothing. 

IDA  :  I  don't  blame  you ;  you  can't  be  different.  But 

it  is  hard  to  think  that  I [stops;  starts  again]  It 

was  all  so  beautiful  and  so  sacred  to  me,  and  now,  sud- 
denly, it  is  blown  out  like  a  candle,  and  nothing  is  left 
— nothing !  [weeps.] 

ARTHUR  :  But,  child,  emotions  are  always  fleeting  like 
that. 

IDA  :  Yes,  I  know. 

ARTHUR  :  But  you  expected  yours  to  last  for  eternity. 

IDA  :  You  don't  understand  at  all  what  I  mean. 

ARTHUR:  You  women  are  all  alike. 

IDA:  I  did  not  promise  myself  any  more.  I  knew 
from  the  beginning  that  after  a  few  weeks  you  would 
tire  of  it  and  [bitterly]  throw  me  aside.  But  I  closed 
my  eyes  to  that.  I  wanted  to  be  happy,  happy  for  once 
in  my  life,  and  afterwards  to  have  the  memories;  and 
always  to  live  on  those  blissful  memories.  That  is  what 
I  dreamed. 

ARTHUR:  Well,  why  don't  you  do  it? 

49 


IDA  :  You  have  spoiled  that,  too. 

ARTHUR  :  You  are  absurd. 

IDA  :  The  way  you  treat  me  now,  the  way  you  look  at 
me,  the  way  you  talk  about  marrying  me  off!  You 
don't  seem  to  remember  that  I  ever  was  anything  to  you. 

ARTHUR:  What  is  the  use  of  remembering  such 
things  ? 

IDA:  [without  heeding  him"]  And  it  seems  to  me 
that  it  was  never  any  more  than  a  trifle  to  you.  When 
I  think  how  absurd  I  must  have  appeared  to  you  with 
my  soulful  love  I  am  so  sorry  and  ashamed  I  could  kill 
myself,  [pauses]  It  mtikes  me  feel  so  desolate.  All 
that  I  had,  all  that  I  was,  you  seem  to  have  taken  away 
from  me. 

ARTHUR:  Child,  life  is  like  that. 

IDA  :  [resentfully]    No,  only  you  are  like  that. 

ARTHUR:  [lightly]  You  have  no  heart;  that's  what 
my  father  used  to  tell  me.  But  he  had  none  himself. 
Everybody  demands  of  everyone  else  that  he  have  a 
heart. 

IDA:  [fiercely]  You  needn't  mock  at  my  feelings! 
You  will  not  convince  me  that  it  was  merely  a  joke  to 
me,  too.  [recollects  herself]  I  beg  your  pardon.  I 
shan't  speak  of  it  again.  Only,  please,  don't  make  fun 
of  me.  If  you  can  take  everything  for  granted,  and 
see  the  ironical  side  of  it,  it  is  because  you  are  stronger 
than  we  are. 

ARTHUR:  I  see  the  ironical  side  because  I  have 
learned  that  the  other,  the  emotional  side,  is  half 
imagination  and  half  self-pity.  If  I  have  emotions  I 
master  them.  Whoever  is  wise  will  do  as  I  do;  the 
others  I  cannot  help. 

IDA  :  It  is  very  well  for  you  to  say  that.  Sometimes 
I  fancy  that  you  don't  belong  in  this  world  at  all.  It  is 

50 


as  though  you  were  cast  down  among  us  from  another 
planet.  You  seem  to  see  all  we  do,  and  it  amuses  you, 
but  you  never  really  understand.  You  never  see  beneath 
the  surface  of  us. .  You  perceive  only  the  outward  signs 
we  make.  That  is  why  we  appear  comical  to  you. 
[Evans  enters  at  left  with  the  journal.] 

EVANS  :  Dr.  Rokoro  asks  if  you  will  come  in  and  look 
at  the  patient  in  twelve.  The  dressing  must  have 
shifted. 

ARTHUR:  So!    Has  my  wife  come  back  yet? 

IDA:  She  left  word  that  she  would  return  at  six. 

EVANS  :  No,  master. 

ARTHUR:  I'll  go  and  have  a  look  at  that  dressing. 
You  wait  here.  We  will  take  up  the  journal  directly. 
[exit  left.] 

[Evans  crosses  to  the  larger  table,  puts  down  the 

journal.'] 

IDA  :  [after  a  pause]    Dr.  Evans. 

EVANS:  Yes,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA:  I  have  made  up  my  mind,     [bows  her  head.] 

EVANS  :  [looks  up  joyfully]     Oh ! 

[His  demeanor  changes  as  he  perceives  her  lack  of 

enthusiasm.     He  glances  at  the  door  through  which 

Arthur  has  just  gone  out,  then  softly] 
You  have  made  up  your  mind  of  your  own  free,  will? 

IDA:  My  own  free  will. 

EVANS:  [greatly  moved]  I  thank  you  ...  I 
can't  say  any  more  now  .  .  .  but  I  shall  endeavor 
to  make  you  happy. 

IDA:  [with  constraint]  I  would  like  you  to  believe 
that  I  am  sincere  about  this. 

EVANS  :  Yes,  I  do,  Miss  Ida. 

IDA:  Sincere  and  honest  and  whole-hearted  as  one 
person  can  be  to  another. 

51 


EVANS  :  [comes  slowly  down]  Miss  Ida  .  .  .  may 
I  kiss  you? 

IDA:  First [hesitates]  I  have  something  to 

tell  you. 

EVANS:  No,  no;  I  beg  of  you.   [very  gently]   I  know. 

IDA:  [bows  her  head.  After  a  pause,  half  turned  from 
him]  And  it  makes  no  difference. 

EVANS  :  No ;  that  must  be  forgotten. 

IDA:  [looJcs  at  him  searchingly,  then  bows  her  head 
and  draws  a  deep  breath]  Both  we  failures  will  begin 
life  over  again. 

EVANS:  Yes,  Ida,  that  is  my  sincerest  wish.  I  will 
try  to  make  you  happy,  Ida.  I  believe  we  can  be  happy 
together  .  .  .  only  .  .  .  there  is  one  thing  .  .  . 
you  won't  be  angry  if  I  mention  it?  We  are  going  to 
be  honest  with  each  other,  are  we  not? 

IDA  :  I  will  not  be  angry. 

EVANS  :  I  have  thought  it  is  only  out  of  pity  for  me 
that  you  will  have  me.  Is  it,  Miss  Ida?  I  couldn't 
bear  that. 

IDA  :  No ;  not  out  of  pity.  Perhaps — perhaps,  I  need 
pity  more  tban  you. 

EVANS:  Then  it  is  out  of  despair,  Miss  Ida?  Are 
you  doing  it  because  you  are  desperate? 

IDA:  [shalces  her  head]  No;  I  was  before,  but  not 
now.  Perhaps  one  must  have  courage  to  do  things  out 
of  despair.  I  bow  my  head,  and 

EVANS  :  [tenderly]    Then  everything  is  well. 

IDA:  [looTcs  at  him  steadily;  slowly]  No;  there  is 
something  more. 

EVANS:  [walking  away]  Sometimes  .  .  .  it  is 
also  the  fear  [gently]  of  him,  of  your  memories  of  him. 
What  can  I  be  to  you  after  him?  If  only  you  wouldn't 
compare  me  with  him  in  your  mind. 

52 


IDA:  When  I  compare  you  with  him  I  shall  realize 
all  that  you  can  be  to  me,  and  how  little  he  could  have 
been.  Perhaps  your  steadfast,  unselfish  devotion  is 
worth  more  than  anything  he  has  to  give.  I  am  not 
asking  much  of  you,  Dr.  Evans — just  a  small  measure 
of  happiness  in  a  quiet  way.  .  .  .  Will  you  shake 
hands  ?  [Offers  her  hand.'] 

[Evans  starts  toward  her,  but  is  interrupted  by  the 

entrance  of  Clemens  and  Thompson  from  left.] 

CLEMENS:  Will  you  wait  here,  sir?  Fll  tell  the 
master  at  once. 

THOMPSON:  [laboring  under  great,  but  restrained, 
excitement]  At  once,  please.  It  is  very  important. 

CLEMENS:  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,  but  the  master  is  in 
the  surgical  ward,  and  I  am  not  permitted  to  go  in 
there. 

EVANS:  Perhaps  I  can 

THOMPSON:  [sees  Ida  and  Evans  for  the  first  time. 
Nods]  I  would  be  very  much  obliged. 

EVANS  :  [going  up  left]    I'll  go  at  once. 

THOMPSON:  Just  a  moment,  [looks  cautiously  at 
Clemens.] 

EVANS:  [Approaches  Thompson]    Yes. 

THOMPSON:  [softly]  It  is  most  important  that  I 
talk  to  him  before — eh — he  sees  his  wife. 

EVANS:  But  Mrs.  Wessley  hasn't  returned  from  the 
city  yet. 

THOMPSON  :  Yes,  she  is  upstairs.  She  came  with  me. 
Now,  if  it  is  in  any  way  possible 

EVANS  :  Of  course,  Mr.  Thompson. 

THOMPSON  :  Thank  you. 

[Evans  and  Clemens  exit  left.    Ida  is  working  at 

the  smaller  table.  Thompson  goes  up  right  and  stands 

pondering;  then  remembers  Ida.] 

53 


Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Wayne,  I  am  very  nervous 
and  somewhat  out  of  breath.     Good  afternoon. 

IDA:  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Thompson. 

[Thompson  continues  to  pace  up  and  down   ex- 
citedly.   There  is  a  short  pause  before  Arthur  enters 

from  left.] 

ARTHUR:  What  is  it,  Thompson,  has  anything 
happened  ? 

THOMPSON:  [quickly']     No,  of  course  not. 

ARTHUR:  Did  they  put  the  fire  out? 

THOMPSON  :  Yes ;  that  is,  the  house  was  burned  down. 

ARTHUR:  Completely?  Oh!  that's  too  bad.  Well,  I 
hope  that 

THOMPSON:  What  do  you  mean?  Oh!  No  one 
was  hurt. 

ARTHUR  :  What  is  the  matter  then  ?   [offers  his  hand.] 

THOMPSON:  [drawing  his  own  hand  back]  I  would 
like  to  have  a  word  with  you. 

ARTHUR  :  [looks  at  him  curiously]  Of  course,  [ivaves 
to  a  seat.] 

THOMPSON  :  [does  not  sit]    Alone. 

ARTHUR:  Oh!  [looks  at  him  sharply]  Will  you 
excuse  us,  Miss  Ida?  [Ida  is  already  on  her  way  to  the 
door.  She  exits  left.]  Well? 

THOMPSON  :  I  told  you  that  my  house  was  burned 
down. 

ARTHUR:  Yes.     [looks  at  Thompson  searchingly.] 

THOMPSON  :  I  have  a  couple  of  rooms  there,  a  sort  of 
a  den,  on  the  top  floor.  The  fire  broke  out  on  the  ground 
floor.  The  entire  lower  part  of  the  house  was  in  flames 

before  the  fire  was  discovered.    We [Arthur  starts] 

we  could  only  be  saved  by  leaving  through  the  windows. 
They  look  out  into  the  garden,  where  a  great  crowd  of 

64 


people  had  gathered  to  watch  the  fire,  [holds  his 
breath.] 

ARTHUR:  That  is  you  were  upstairs  in  your  room 
when  the  fire  broke  out? 

THOMPSON:  [nervously]     Yes,  and  with  me 

ARTHUR:  And  you  were  not  alone. 

THOMPSON:  No;  that  is  why  I  am  here  now. 

ARTHUR  :  [quietly]    What  do  you  mean  ? 

THOMPSON  :  [ desperately]  A  lady  was  up  there  with 
me — your  wife. 

ARTHUR:  [self-contained,  after  a  pause]  How  were 
you  rescued? 

THOMPSON:  Down  a  ladder.  There  was  really  no 
danger. 

ARTHUR:  Into  the  garden? 

THOMPSON:  Yes. 

ARTHUR:  Where  a  great  many  people  were  standing? 

THOMPSON:  [softly]    Yes. 

ARTHUR  :  [with  bitter  irony]    That  was  well  done. 

THOMPSON  :  [after  a  pause]     But 

ARTHUR  :  [with  cold  menace]  Of  course,  you  give  me 
vour  word 


THOMPSON:  I  accompanied  Mrs.  Wessley 

ARTHUR  :  Of  course,  you  give  me  your  word  that  there 
was  nothing  improper  between  you  and  my  wife. 

THOMPSON:  [reluctantly]     Yes. 

ARTHUR:  Of  course.  Still  you  are  here  at  my  dis- 
posal for  whatever  I  may  choose  to  do  in  the  matter, 
knowing  the  affair  has  a  very  questionable  look. 

THOMPSON  :  That  is  why  I  am  here.  I  did  not  wish 
you  to  hear  it  from  anyone  else,  and 

ARTHUR:  And  you  are  willing  to  take  all  the  con- 
sequences, and  so  forth? 

55 


THOMPSON:  I  deplore  deeply  that  this  unfortunate 
circumstance  should  give  rise  to  any  reflection  upon 
the  honor  of  a  man  who  has  always  stood  so  high 

ARTHUR  :  Let  that  be  my  concern.  But  before  we  talk 

any  further 

[Goes  to  the  door  at  left;  locks  it  and  pockets  the 

key.    Goes  to  the  larger  table,  takes  a  revolver  out  of 

the  drawer;  goes  down  left;  glares  at  Thompson,  then 

points  to  the  photograph  of  Katherine  on  the  mantel.'] 
You  know  that  pretty  little  photograph  of  my  wife  there 
on  the  mantel.  Stay  where  you  are,  please. 

[Takes  quick  aim  and  shoots.     The  photograph 

drops  to  the  floor.    Arthur  crosses  to  it,  picks  it  up 

and  offers  it  to  Thompson.'} 

There!  I  don't  mean  that  to  be  symbolic.  I  only 
wanted  to  show  you  that  I  know  how  to  shoot,  [lays 
both  revolver  and  photograph  on  the  table]  But  you 
did  know  that.  We  have  often  ridden  and  shot  together. 
[leans  nonchalantly  against  the  table]  Now,  my  dear 
Thompson,  I  will  tell  you  what  to  do.  Go  home,  and 
go  to  sleep.  This  affair  must  have  excited  you  con- 
siderably. 

THOMPSON:  [bursts  out  angrily]  You  are  treating 
me  like  a 

ARTHUR:  [savagely]  Yes!  [evenly]  Don't  lose 
your  head.  Be  discreet.  Are  you  disappointed  because 
I  didn't  shoot  you?  [goes  slowly  up  to  Thompson,  his 
voice  hardens]  I  have  your  word,  haven't  I?  That  is 
enough  for  me.  [coolly  again]  And  if  that  is  enough 
for  me,  Thompson,  you  needn't  be  more  particular. 

CLEMENS:  [his  terrified  voice  through  the  door  up 
left]  Master!  Master!  Did  you  call?  [rattles  the 
doorknob  anxiously.] 

56 


ARTHUR:  [after  a  pause]     No,  Clemens,  thank  you. 

[Leisurely  lights  a  cigarette.] 

I  used  to  be  very  angry  with  my  servants  because  they 
smoked  my  cigars.  It  wasn't  the  value  of  the  cigars  that 
mattered.  It  was  the  disquieting  knowledge  that  I  was 
being  robbed,  and  someone  was  secretly  chuckling 
about  it — that  is  what  hurt.  But  in  time  one  learns 
how  life  is,  and  become  resigned.  Nowadays  my 
servants  have  permission  to  help  themselves  to  my  cigars 
as  often  as  they  please.  .  .  .  And  so  they  have  no 
further  need  to  steal  from  me.  Neither  shall  you  steal 
from  me  again,  {unlocks  the  door]  If  you  should 
chance  to  meet  my  wife  as  you  go  out,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  tell  her  to  look  after  that  boy  in  seven. 
That  is  vastly  more  important. 

[Crosses  to  the  cabinet.     Thompson  stands  stiffly 
looking  at  him,  bewildered,  outraged,  starts  to  speak, 
changes  his  mind,  bows  shortly,  and  goes  to  the  door 
at  left] 
Be  discreet,  Thompson. 

[Thompson  exits,  slamming  the  door.  Arthur  stares 
after  him  thoughtfully;  his  face  becomes  anxious  and 
drawn.  He  smokes  with  quick,  heavy  puffs.  In 
sudden  disgust  he  throws  his  cigarette  away  and  goes 
to  the  table,  sweeps  the  revolver  and  photograph  into 
the  drawer,  then  rings  for  the  servant.  Clemens  enters 
at  left] 
ARTHUR:  Open  the  window  and  light  up. 

[Clemens  opens  the  window  and  switches  on  the 
lights] 

Are  the  people  back  from  the  fire? 
CLEMENS:  Yes,  master. 

ARTHUR:  [watches   him   narrowly]      How   was   it? 
What  do  they  say  ? 

57 


CLEMENS:  [evasively]     I  was  in  the  garden. 

[Rokoro   enters  from   left;  regards  Arthur  solic- 
itously,    Arthur   beckons   to   Rokoro,   but   does  not 

speak  until  Clemens  has  taken  the  coffee  things  and 

gone  off  left.] 

ARTHUR:  Well? 

ROKORO  :  [uneasily]     I  only  want 

ARTHUR:  Has  the  scandal  spread  in  the  house  so 
soon? 

ROKORO:  The  watchman  said  something.     ...     I 
cautioned  him 

ARTHUR  :  Let  them  talk !    But  you !    I  did  not  think 
I  misunderstood  you. 

ROKORO:  [laughs  mirthlessly]    Me? 

ARTHUR:  [sharply]     What  are  you  laughing  at? 

ROKORO:  Nothing,  nothing.     Only  I  thought 

ARTHUR:  What? 

ROKORO:  You  say  people  can  talk. 


But  I     ... 

who  will  soon  go  away,  and  whom 
I  must  not  judge  you 


a  foreigner 

you  always  laugh  at 

wrongly.    Curious ! 

ARTHUR:  It  is  true  I  do  not  want  you  to  think :  "This 
man,  who  boasts  of  his  complete  mastery  over  his  life, 
doesn't  know  how  to  keep  his  own  house  in  order." 

ROKORO:  [sympathetically]  No.  I  do  not  think  that 
at  all. 

ARTHUR  :  What  then  ? 

ROKORO:  That  this  must  be  a  severe  test  of  your 
strength. 

ARTHUR 


[after  a  pause] 
ROKORO:  [gravely]       We 
Barbarians ! 

ARTHUR:  [nods]     Yes. 
ROKORO  :  Not  able  to  reason. 


What  would  you  do? 
are    different.       [laughs] 


58 


ARTHUR:  Not  able  to  reason — that  is  it.  It  is  so 
easy  to  be  reasonable  about  other  people's  affairs.  I 
want  to  .see  whether  I  can't  be  reasonable  about  my  own. 
I  want  to  do  what  I  would  require  anyone  else  to  do. 

ROKORO:  [incredulously]     Is  that  possible? 

ARTHUR:  Why  not?  Not  long  ago  you  talked  about 
my  infidelities.  Do  you  remember  ?  And  you  reproached 
me  on  the  subject  of  my  wife. 

ROKORO:  You  were  angry. 

ARTHUR:  Not  at  all.  It  seemed  to  me  you  didn't 
understand  that  my  love  for  my  infidelities  and  my 
feeling  for  my  wife  are  separate  and  distinct  things; 
that  these  two  things  can  exist  together  is  incredible 
to  you. 

ROKORO:  Yes. 

ARTHUR:  But  they  do.  [impatiently]  And  all  men 
know  it  who  do  not  lie  to  themselves. 

ROKORO  :  [emphatically']    Men  of  the  West ! 

ARTHUR:  I  am  not  making  rules  for  the  world.  I 
can  say  only  what  I  know  of  my  own  experience:  that 
I — speaking  plainly — when  I  come  from  another 
woman,  realize  all  the  more  forcibly  how  dear  my  wife 
is  to  me.  Laugh,  but  men  are  like  that.  We  are 
beasts,  if  you  like. 

ROKORO  :  Yes,  but  if  you [stops  short.] 

ARTHUR:  What? 

ROKORO  :  No    ...    I  should  not  say  that. 

ARTHUR  :  Speak  up. 

ROKORO  :  [bashfully]  Haven't  you  .  .  .  with 
your  wife ?  [stops  short  again.] 

ARTHUR:  Haven't  I  what? 

ROKORO  :  Do  you  live  with  her  .  .  .  only 
spiritually  ? 

59 


ARTHUR:  No,  little  doctor,  for  the  beast  will  not  be 
denied. 

ROKORO  :  [crosses  the  room,  shuddering  with  disgust] 
Oh! 

ARTHUR  :  Does  it  seem  illogical  ? 

ROKORO  :  I  do  not  understand  it  at  all. 

ARTHUR:  For  your  notebook,  little  busybody?  Well, 
listen  then.  Between  a  man  and  wife  who  are  well 
mated  an  attachment  can  grow  that  is  too  powerful  to 
be  destroyed  by  petty  considerations  of  infidelity.  I  am 
not  ashamed  of  my  polygamous  instincts;  they  are  part 
of  my  humanity.  A  human  being  has  the  right  to  be 
human;  all  he  needs  is  the  courage,  and  in  the  end  he 
is  better  off  for  it. 

ROKORO:  [quickly]  Are  you  better  off  for  it? 
[frightened  by  his  own  boldness]  No,  no  ...  I 
should  not  have  said  that. 

ARTHUR  :  [slowly]  I  am  not  as  badly  off  as  you  sup- 
pose. For  I  cannot  be  less  than  fair.  What  I  permit 
myself,  I  permit  everyone  else — even  my  wife,  little 
doctor. 

ROKORO  :  That  does  seem    .    .    .    fair. 

ARTHUR:  If  there  is  something  indispensable  to  your 
happiness  how  can  you  justly  deny  it  to  someone  else? 

ROKORO:  [softly]  But  is  there  nothing  in  you  that 
has  been  hurt  .  .  .  that  cries  for  revenge  ? 

ARTHUR:  [pauses]  What  is  revenge  but  the  expres- 
sion of  petty  indignation?  Suppose  I  do  find  it  un- 
pleasant? Shall  I  bluster  and  storm  and  wear  myself 
out  with  regret? 

ROKORO:  It  is  good  for  people  to  bluster  and  storm 
.  .  .  and  regret. 

ARTHUR:  Murder  and  divorce,  seven  years  of  happi- 

60 


ness  destroyed,  and  what  not?    No,  little  doctor,  not  I 
— not  one  who  pretends  to  be  master  of  his  life. 
[Clemens  enters  at  left.] 

CLEMENS:  Your  brother,  master. 

ARTHUR:  [quickly']    Who? 

CLEMENS.  Your  brother,  master. 

ARTHUR:  [with  an  ironical  laugh]  He  heard  it 
quickly.  Show  him  in. 

[Clemens  exits  left.    RoTcoro  starts  to  follow] 
No,  stay  here.     It  will  be  funny.     I  can  picture  it  in 
advance. 

[Raymond  enters  at  left.] 

RAYMOND:  You  will  wonder  what  brought  me  up 
here  from  the  city  again  today? 

ARTHUR:  Not  at  all. 

EAYMOND  :  [to  Rolcoro']  Good  evening,  doctor,  [sits 
down  breathlessly.] 

ARTHUR:  It  must  be  very  unpleasant  news  you  bring 
me — from  your  appearance. 

RAYMOND:  My  dear  Arthur,  how  unfair  you  are  to 
me.  You  will  soon  perceive  it  is  purely  out  of  brotherly 
affection  that  I  am  here  again  today. 

ARTHUR:  You  say  that  beautifully.  How  a  noble 
sentiment  does  transfigure  one.  Didn't  you  bring  your 
dear  wife  along? 

RAYMOND:  This  affair  must  be  discussed  between  us 
alone.  [To  RoTcoro']  Will  you  be  good  enough  to 
excuse  us,  my  dear  doctor  ? 

ARTHUR  :  The  dear  doctor  will  remain.  [RoTcoro  goes 
back  among  the  'booTcs.'] 

RAYMOND:  But  this  is  a  matter  which  certainly 
should  not 

ARTHUR  :  [carelessly']    But  I  know  what  it  is. 

RAYMOND:  You ? 

61 


ARTHUR:  [interrupts]   We  were  just  talking  about  it. 

RAYMOND  :  [incredulously]  I  can  scarcely  believe 

ARTHUR:  Yes.  You  mean  about  my  wife  and 
Thompson,  don't  you? 

RAYMOND:  [nonplussed]     Yes,  but 

ARTHUR:  Well,  you  needn't  have  troubled  to  come 
about  that. 

RAYMOND:  I  heard  it  from  Smithers,  the  editor  of 
the  Daily  News,  who 

ARTHUR:  Isn't  that  the  same  brave  fellow  whom  you 
incited  against  me  in  the  matter  of  the  hospital  ? 

RAYMOND  :  Most  certainly  not  incited.  He  considered 
it  his  duty 

ARTHUR:  There  are  so  many  honorable  souls  in  the 
world. 

RAYMOND:  Moreover,  he  is  sorry  now 

ARTHUR:  Since  the  millionaire 

RAYMOND:  And  he  wants  to  prove  how  much  he  re- 
grets the  incident. 

ARTHUR:  Oh! 

RAYMOND:  Yes,  that  is  why  he  came  to  me  at  once. 
The  whole  city  knows  it.  You  can  fancy  for  yourself 
what  a  scandal.  But  he,  to  atone  for  a  previous  mis- 
understanding, is  quite  willing  to  suppress  all  news  of 
this  unfortunate  affair  in  his  newspaper.  And  he  hopes 
also,  to  be  able  to  persuade  the  other  newspapers  not  to 
print  it.  I  thanked  him  in  your  name,  and  then  I 
came  to  you  with  all  speed,  so  that  in  this  trying 
moment  I  might  be  at  your  side. 

ARTHUR:  With  all  speed! 

RAYMOND:  Yes. 

ARTHUR:  Didn't  you  stop  to  talk  about  it  first  with 
your  dear  wife  ? 

RAYMOND:  Naturally. 

02 


ARTHUR:  Do  tell  me  what  she  said. 

RAYMOND:  She  was  astounded,  of  course.  And,  like 
me,  she  was  of  the  opinion  that  I  should  go  to  you  at 
once.  You  have  our  sincerest  sympathy  in  this  break- 
ing up  of  your  heretofore  happy  household.  It  is  a  sad 
calamity,  brother.  Our  family  lawyer  is  a  man  of  wide 
experience  and  the  utmost  tact.  I  think  you  could  do 
no  better  than  to  go  to  him. 

ARTHUR:  But  my  dear  brother,  you  don't  suppose 
I  am  going  to  be  divorced? 

RAYMOND  :  What  then  ? 

ARTHUR:  Whatever  put  that  into  your  head? 

RAYMOND:  But  two  hundred  people  saw  it. 

ARTHUR:  Saw  what? 

RAYMOND:  Your  wife  leaving  a  bedroom  window  of 
Thompson's  house. 

ARTHUR:  [impatiently]    Well? 

RAYMOND:  And  a  man's  bathrobe  thrown  hastily 
over  her  shoulders.  Pardon  me,  but  there  were  really 
at  least  two  hundred  people. 

ARTHUR:  [with  affected  gaiety]  Well,  my  dear  Ray- 
mond, it  is  quite  obvious  that  she  had  a  rendezvous 
with  Thompson. 

RAYMOND:  Well! 

ARTHUR:  Yes.     Does  that  startle  you? 

RAYMOND:  [springs  to  his  feet;  glares  at  Arthur, 
paces  up  and  down]  But  that  is 

ARTHUR:  And  tell  me  this — what  business  is  it  of 
yours  ?  If  my  wife  suits  me,  and  Thompson,  too,  what 
has  anyone  else  in  the  world  to  do  with  it? 

RAYMOND:  Unheard  of! 

ARTHUR:  Don't  pretend  to  be  surprised.  Come,  you 
are  a  man  of  the  world.  Isn't  it  quite  a  common  thing  ? 
Isn't  one  man  out  of  every  three  betrayed  by  his  wife? 

63 


[smiles  at  Raymond  suddenly]  Not  you!  Oe  has 
only  to  see  your  wife  to  know  she  is  virtuous. 

RAYMOND:  [still  pacing  up  and  down]  I  der  that 
the  world  is  as  immoral  as  that.  I  am  horrified  i — 

ARTHUR:  [warmly]  Yes,  horrified!  You  onl  wait 
for  a  chance  like  this,  and  the  moment  it  comes  yu  are 
all  aquiver  with  ecstacy  at  the  chance  to  be  virtously 
horrified,  [breaks  out  angrily]  Be  horrified!  You 
and  your  wife  and  all  your  kind !  Be  horrified !  But 
I  don't  want  your  sympathy.  At  the  bottom  it  i  only 
malice.  That  is  why  you  are  here  so  quickly,  [r&v ers 
his  composure;  resumes  his  former  bantering  ton]  I 
am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  am  not  a  bit  horified, 
brother.  You  see,  before  I  was  married  I  said  to  ivself 

"Now  consider.  Many  men  have  been  belayed 

before  you ;  and  unless  you  are  exceptionally  luckyyou, 
too,  will  be  betrayed.  Consider  if  this  woman  is  sdear 
to  you  that  you  are  satisfied  to  bear  betrayal  fo  her 
sake."  And  now,  because  things  have  happened  jusas  I 
anticipated,  shall  I  lament  and  destroy  my  housebld? 
That  would  be  rather  illogical,  wouldn't  it? 

KAYMOND:  You  have  lost  your  senses. 

ARTHUR  :  Everyone  is  crazy  who  does  not  accept'our 
false  standards  of  morality. 

RAYMOND:  If  you  believe  I  will  tolerate  this — 

ARTHUR:  [derisively]     You? 

RAYMOND:  You  bear  my  name,  and  if  you  hav.no 
consideration  for  our  honor — 

ARTHUR:  I  have  none  at  all. 

RAYMOND:  [earnestly]  Arthur,  I  know  you.  Ton 
were  just  the  same  when  a  boy.  You  don't  really  Kan 
what  you  say;  you  are  only  pretending  so  as  to  show  ow 
independent  and  strong  you  are,  and  above  everyboy's 
opinion.  That  gratifies  you  beyond .  But,  Artur, 

64 


I  beg  of  you,  I  appeal  to  you,  forget  what  has  taken 
place  between  us,  and  hear  me  now.  Believe  me,  I  mean 
it  for  your  good.  Arthur,  this  involves  your  honor  as 
a  man. 

ARTHUR  :  I  have  no  honor ;  I  want  none ;  I  need  none. 

RAYMOND:  [eor»«s%]     But  Arthur 

ARTHUR:  Honor  is  other  people's  judgment  of  me. 
I  repudiate  that. 

RAYMOND  :  And  their  ridicule  and  scorn  ? 

ARTHUR:  In  my  own  house  I  will  know  how  to 
prevent  it;  outside  I  shall  not  hear  it. 

RAYMOND  :  And  your  own  feelings  ? 

ARTHUR:  My  own  feelings  are  that  if  I  am  outraged 
and  distressed  you  old  maids  will  exult  in  it,  and  if  I 
am  not  a  bit  outraged  or  distressed  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed. That  satisfies  me. 

RAYMOND:  [in  a  burst  of  anger]    So  you  really  mean 

to  keep  this  harlot  in  your  house,  after 

[Rol-oro,  who  has  been  listening  with  absorbed  in- 
terest near  the  bookshelves,  springs  upon  Raymond 

with  an  exclamation  of  rage,  and  strikes  him  in  the 

mouth  with  his  clenched  fot.~\ 

ARTHUR:  Stop! 

[Rokoro    turns   to    him    u'onderingly.     Raymond 

staggers  back  nursing  his  lip.] 

Don't  do  that.  He  means  well.  To  him  she  ts  that. 
Everything  is  relative,  you  know,  [to  Raymond]  You 
must  pardon  our  colleague,  brother,  for  he  is  not  quite 
civilized.  But  what  else  were  you  going  to  say? 
[Rokoro  goes  back  among  the  books.] 

RAYMOND:  [straightening  his  cravat;  erect  with 
dignity]  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  in  this  house. 
[reaches  for  his  hat.] 

ARTHUR:  That's  just  what  I  thought  when  you  first 
came  in.  [Katherine  enters  at  left.] 

65 


[smiles  at  Raymond  suddenly]  Not  you!  One  has 
only  to  see  your  wife  to  know  she  is  virtuous. 

RAYMOND:  [still  pacing  up  and  down]  I  deny  that 
the  world  is  as  immoral  as  that.  I  am  horrified  to 

ARTHUR:  [warmly]  Yes,  horrified!  You  only  wait 
for  a  chance  like  this,  and  the  moment  it  comes  you  are 
all  aquiver  with  ecstacy  at  the  chance  to  be  virtuously 
horrified,  [breaks  out  angrily']  Be  horrified!  You 
and  your  wife  and  all  your  kind !  Be  horrified !  But 
I  don't  want  your  sympathy.  At  the  bottom  it  is  only 
malice.  That  is  why  you  are  here  so  quickly,  [recovers 
his  composure;  resumes  his  former  bantering  tone]  I 
am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  am  not  a  bit  horrified, 
brother.  You  see,  before  I  was  married  I  said  to  myself 

"Now  consider.  Many  men  have  been  betrayed 

before  you;  and  unless  you  are  exceptionally  lucky,  you, 
too,  will  be  betrayed.  Consider  if  this  woman  is  so  dear 
to  you  that  you  are  satisfied  to  bear  betrayal  for  her 
sake."  And  now,  because  things  have  happened  just  as  I 
anticipated,  shall  I  lament  and  destroy  my  household? 
That  would  be  rather  illogical,  wouldn't  it? 

RAYMOND:  You  have  lost  your  senses. 

ARTHUR  :  Everyone  is  crazy  who  does  not  accept  your 
false  standards  of  morality. 

RAYMOND:  If  you  believe  I  will  tolerate  this 

ARTHUR:  [derisively]     You? 

RAYMOND:  You  bear  my  name,  and  if  you  have  no 
consideration  for  our  honor 

ARTHUR:  I  have  none  at  all. 

RAYMOND:  [earnestly]  Arthur,  I  know  you.  You 
were  just  the  same  when  a  boy.  You  don't  really  mean 
what  you  say ;  you  are  only  pretending  so  as  to  show  how 
independent  and  strong  you  are,  and  above  everybody's 
opinion.  That  gratifies  you  beyond .  But,  Arthur, 

64 


I  beg  of  you,  I  appeal  to  you,  forget  what  has  taken 
place  between  us,  and  hear  me  now.  Believe  me,  I  mean 
it  for  your  good.  Arthur,  this  involves  your  honor  as 
a  man. 

ARTHUR  :  I  have  no  honor ;  I  want  none ;  I  need  none. 

EAYMOND:  [earnestly']     But  Arthur 

ARTHUR:  Honor  is  other  people's  judgment  of  me. 
I  repudiate  that. 

EAYMOND:  And  their  ridicule  and  scorn? 

ARTHUR:  In  my  own  house  I  will  know  how  to 
prevent  it ;  outside  I  shall  not  hear'  it. 

RAYMOND  :  And  your  own  feelings  ? 

ARTHUR:  My  own  feelings  are  that  if  I  am  outraged 
and  distressed  you  old  maids  will  exult  in  it,  and  if  I 
am  not  a  bit  outraged  or  distressed  you  will  be  disap- 
pointed. That  satisfies  me. 

EAYMOND  :  [in  a  burst  of  anger]    So  you  really  mean 

to  keep  this  harlot  in  your  house,  after 

\Rokoro,  who  has  been  listening  with  absorbed  in- 
terest near  the  bookshelves,  springs  upon  Raymond 

with  an  exclamation  of  rage,  and  strikes  him  in  the 

mouth  with  his  clenched  fist.'] 

ARTHUR:  Stop! 

[RoJcoro    turns    to    him   wonderingly.     Raymond 

staggers  back  nursing  his  lip.] 

Don't  do  that.  He  means  well.  To  him  she  is  that. 
Everything  is  relative,  you  know,  [to  Raymond]  You 
must  pardon  our  colleague,  brother,  for  he  is  not  quite 
civilized.  But  what  else  were  you  going  to  say? 
[Rokoro  goes  back  among  the  books."] 

EAYMOND:  [straightening  his  cravat;  erect  with 
dignity']  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  in  this  house. 
[reaches  for  his  hat.~] 

ARTHUR:  That's  just  what  I  thought  when  you  first 
came  in.  [Katherine  enters  at  left.] 

65 


RAYMOND:  I  will  see  to  it  that [stops  as  he  sees 

Katherine.] 

KATHERINE:  Am  I  intruding? 

RAYMOND:  [greets  her]  My  dear  sister-in-law. 
[goes  up  to  her  with  outstretched  hand.] 

ARTHUR:  Hypocrite!  [steps  between  them  and  points 
to  the  door]  Get  out  of  here !  [Raymond  glares  hate- 
fully at  him,  then  exits  left.] 

KATHERINE:  [puzzled,  slowly]     I 

ARTHUR:  [coolly]     Did  you  want  anything? 

KATHERINE  :  The  powder  for  the  boy  in  seven. 

ARTHUR:  [takes  phial  from  a  cabinet  and  brings  it 
to  her]  Here.  Anything  else? 

KATHERINE:  [looking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes]  No. 
If  you  have  nothing. 

ARTHUR:  [returning  her  gaze,  lightly  laughs]  And 
now  you  think  the  big  scene  is  coming.  Child,  if  it 
were,  I  wouldn't  have  thrown  out  the  audience. 

KATHERINE:  You  are  in  a  very  good  humor. 

ARTHUR:  Why  not?  [they  look  at  each  other  stead- 
ily. Arthur  is  first  to  turn  away]  I  will  go  up  directly 
to  see  how  that  boy  is  getting  along.  [Katherine  bows 
her  head,  exits  left.] 

ARTHUR:  [looks  after  her,  frowning,  takes  a  deep 
breath,  comes  down  to  centre  as  he  speaks  with  affected 
lightness]  People  like  my  brother  are  really  a  blessing 
in  the  world.  He  has  revived  all  my  good  spirits. 
[Rokoro  comes  down  to  join  him]  Tell  me,  little  doctor, 
was  that  a  jab  or  an  uppercut  you  hit  him  ?  It  was  very 
good  of  you. 

ROKORO:  [grins  as  he  looks  inquiringly  up  into 
Arthur's  face]  You  are  glad  I  hit  him,  eh?  Is  that 
consistent? 

Curtain 

66 


ACT  III 

The  scene  is  unchanged. 
The  time  is  the  next  morning. 

As  the  curtain  rises  Arthur  is  pacing  reflectively  up 
and  down  the  room.  Clemens  enters,  carrying  a  salver 
with  a  card  upon  it. 

ARTHUR  :  Well,  what  is  it  now  ?  Why  are  you  always 
disturbing  me  ? 

CLEMENS  :  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  master. 
ARTHUR:  I  won't  see  anyone  now. 
CLEMENS:  That  is  what  I  told  him,  sir,  but  he  in- 
sisted on  sending  his  card  in. 

ARTHUR:  [takes  the  card  and  reads  it]  Mortimer 
Weeks,  Editor  the  Faun!  I  don't  know  him.  .  .  . 
Well,  show  him  in.  [He  throivs  the  card  on  the  table 
and  busies  himself  there,  with  his  back  to  the  door.'] 

[Clemens  exits  at  left,  and  in  a  moment  re-enters, 
showing  in  Weelcs.~\ 

[Weeks  is  twenty,  very  fat,  very  blond,  very  rosy; 
he  has  a  slow-witted,  embarrassed  stare;  he  wears  a 
high  collar,  a  broad  black  cravat  tied  in  a  flowing  bow; 
and  he  sniffs  intermittently  like  one  with  catarrhal 
trouble.    He  remains  standing  at  the  door;  bows  pro- 
foundly and  waits.    Arthur  does  not  turn.~\ 
WEEKS:  Professor  Wessley,  I  believe. 
ARTHUR    [picks    up    the    card   and    turns    to    him, 
amused]    Mr.  Mortimer  Weeks?     [We0fcs  bows  again] 
Editor  the  Faun. 
WEEKS:  And  anarchist. 

67 


ARTHUR:  Really? 

WEEKS  :  I  am  not  permitted  to  put  that  on  the  card. 
My  uncle  forbids  it. 

ARTHUR:  What  can  I  do  for  you? 

WEEKS:  [pompously]  I  am  here,  Professor  Wessley, 
in  the 

ARTHUR:  Won't  you  sit  down? 

WEEKS  :  Thank  you.  [sits] .  I  am  here  in  the  name 
of  Youth. 

ARTHUR:  [proffers  cigar  box]    Do  you  smoke? 

WEEKS:  Oh!  Thank  you,  very  much,  [takes  a 
cigar.] 

ARTHUR  :  [gives  him  a  light]    Here ! 

WEEKS  :  Thank  you.     [smokes  awkwardly.] 

ARTHUR  :  Now  what  is  this  about  Youth  ? 

WEEKS  :  I  came  as  the  spokesman  of  Youth 

ARTHUR:  Yes? 


WEEKS  :  The  combined  Radical  Youth  of  our  city 

ARTHUR:  Oh! 

WEEKS  :  To  express  our  admiration  for  your  courage. 

ARTHUR  :  [surprised]    My  courage  ? 

WEEKS:  We  mean,  too,  to  present  you  with  an  en- 
graved testimonial  of  our  esteem.  All  the  newspapers, 
you  know,  have  combined  to  keep  the  matter  secret,  so 
we  first  heard  about  it  only  last  night.  But  I  was  sent 
here  to  assure  you  that  in  your  brave  fight  you  may 
count  on  us.  The  combined  Radical  Youth  of  the 
community  is  behind  you.  [sniffs.] 

ARTHUR:  I  am  honored,  of  course,  and  I  thank 
you 

WEEKS  :  Pardon  me,  it  is  no  more  than  our  duty. 

ARTHUR:  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Weeks,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  explain  what  you  mean  ?  I  don't  quite  realize 
what  it  is  you  are  praising  me  for. 

68 


WEEKS  :  Oh,  you  are  too  modest,  Professor ! 

ARTHUR:  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Weeks,  but  what  is  it  all 
about  ? 

WEEKS:  [with  unction']  You  have  performed  an 
undying  service  for  liberty.  You  have  struck  a  blow  for 
the  freedom  of  all  humanity.  In  the  next  number  of 
The  Faun  ...  Do  you  know  The  Faun,  Professor? 

ARTHUR  :  I  am  a  bit  remiss  in  literary  affairs.  I  am 
sorry. 

WEEKS  :  Pray,  don't  mention  it.  As  I  was  saying,  in 
the  next  issue  of  The  Faun  I  mean  to  give  the  whole 
noble  story  out  to  the  world.  The  Faun  wears  no  reac- 
tionary muzzle!  The  world  shall  applaud  your  heroic 
attitude  toward  your  wife,  that 

ARTHUR  :  [sharply']    My  wife ! 

WEEKS  :  That  when  you  conceded  to  her  the  right  of 

untrammeled,  sexual  freedom [his  voice  falters  as 

he  sees  Arthur  rise  quickly.] 

ARTHUR  :  Are  you  crazy  ? 

WEEKS  :  [rises  too;  frightened]     But,  Professor 

ARTHUR  :  Do  you  mean  to  print  such  stuff  as  that  in 

your [stops  short;  looks  at  Weeks  gloweringly; 

then,  after  a  short  pause,  speaks  curtly]  Let  me  under- 
stand. What  have  you  been  told?  And  who  has  told 
you? 

WEEKS  :  [stammering  and  sniffing]  Your  own  brother 
.  .  .  the  Director  of  Health  ...  he  himself 
said  so 

ARTHUR:  Yes. 

WEEKS  :  Only  last  night  he  was  telling 

ARTHUR:  Telling  what? 

WEEKS  :  But  everybody  in  town  knows  about  the  fire 
at  the  villa. 

ARTHUR:  Yes. 

69 


WEEKS:  And,  naturally,  people  asked  your  brother 
questions.  And  he  gave  them  to  understand  that  you 

ARTHUR  :  Go  on.    That  I  ? 

WEEKS:  [encouraged]  That  you  were  of  the  belief 
that  every  wife  has  the  right 

ARTHUR:  [his  voice  encouraging  but  ironical]  Yes, 
has  the  right 

WEEKS:  Has  the  right  to  do  as  she  pleases — that's 
what  he  said — to  do  as  she. . . .  [sniffs]  pleases.  He  was 
very  much  disgusted,  naturally.  That  clique  of  pro- 
fessors are  always  opposed  to  a  new  idea. 

ARTHUR  :  But  the  Youth  are  in  favor  of  it. 

WEEKS  :  [sniffs;  his  composure  recovered]  Unquali- 
fiedly! We  believe  that  woman  is  a  polyandrist  born, 
and  to  limit  her  to  but  one  man  is  a  species  of  sexual 
slavery  that 

ARTHUR:  Never  mind  your  beliefs  now,  Mr.  Weeks. 
Tell  me  more  about  what  you  have  heard. 

WEEKS:  Well,  my  chum  Snorkins  he  heard  it  from 
his  father — his  father  is  assistant  Register  of  Wills,  you 
know — and  his  father  was  present  when  your  brother 
was  talking  about  it  with  some  people  in  the  City  Hall. 
[sniffs,  breathless]  Well,  as  soon  as  my  chum  Snorkins 
heard  it  he  came  running  to  us.  It  fell  like  a  bomb- 
shell among  us  comrades,  you  know.  We  had  no  idea 
that  free  thought  existed  like  that  outside  our  Society. 
It  was  so  important  that  we  decided  to  call  a  special 
meeting  at  once.  I,  Snorkins — we  two  are  the  leaders — 
then  there  is  Schroeder,  the  cake-baker's  son — you  must 
know  him — • — 

ARTHUR:  I  know  the  cakes. 

WEEKS  :  The  entire  membership  attended,  but  of  the 
ladies  Miss  Pomponia  was  the  only  one  who  came.  It 
was  too  late  for  the  rest  to  get — you  know  most  of 

70 


them  live  at  home  with  their  parents,  [sniffs]  But 
we  are  sure  the  absent  ones  were  with  us  in  spirit  and 
entirely  in  accord  with 

ARTHUR:  Who  is  Miss  Pomponia? 

WEEKS  :  Anrita  Pomponia.  She  dances  at  the  Apollo 
— a  truly  pagan  soul,  great  breadth  of  mind.  She  made 
a  stirring  speech,  [sniffs]  You  should  have  heard  her, 
Professor.  It  was  she  who  named  it  an  Act  of  Heroism. 
The  meeting  was  most  enthusiastic.  We  were  unani- 
mously of  the  opinion  that  your  heroism 

ARTHUR  :  Heroism !    Pah ! 

WEEKS  :  Marked  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  Eugenics ; 
that  woman  is  now  sexually  free  [sniffs]  and  unashamed 
— that  is  what  Miss  Pomponia  said.  And  it  was  quite 
obvious,  quite  obvious  that  everyone  agreed  with  her, 
not  only  because  of  the  ovation  with  which  her  words 
were  received,  but  because  I  was  immediately  appointed 
a  committee  of  one  to  call  on  you,  and  because  a  motion 
was  also  passed  that  an  artistic  testimonial  of  the  resolu- 
tion be  inscribed  and  presented  to  you.  And  it  was 
also  resolved  that  the  matter  be  given  the  praise  and 
publicity  it  deserves  in  the  next  issue  of  The  Faun. 
[sniffs  and  warms  up  to  his  subject]  Moreover,  it  was 
resolved  that  our  Society  be  renamed  the  Wessley  Free- 
dom Circle  in  your  honor;  and  I  am  empowered  to 
tender  you  the  honorary  presidency. 

[Arthur  is  watching  him  with  mixed  irritation  and 

amusement.] 

We  hope  the  example  you  have  set  will  be  followed ;  that 
it  will  inspire  the  unenlightened  and  encourage  the 
faint-hearted  to  revolt 

ARTHUR  :  But  what  do  you  want  to  revolt  for  ? 

WEEKS:  What  then? 

ARTHUR  :  It  seems  such  a  pointless  thing  to  do. 

71 


WEEKS  :  I  catch  your  meaning.  Yes ;  it  is  true  that 
everyone  is  a  radical  these  days.  Most  things  have 
already  been  revolted  out  of  existence.  But  honor! — 
that  is  still  an  existing  sentiment.  There  are  many  who 
cling  to  the  obsolete  notions  of  honor.  You  should  hear 
how  they  talk  about  you  in  the  city. 

ARTHUR:  And  so  your  .  .  .  radical  organization 
holds  me  out — so  to  speak — as  the  first  dishonorable  man 
of  the  world. 

WEEKS:  But ! 

ARTHUR:  Let  us  not  be  ashamed  of  our  names. 

WEEKS:  Aha!     [sniffs.] 

ARTHUR  :  [ruefully']  I  see  there  is  still  a  broad  field 
before  me.  Mr.  Weeks,  you  look  to  me  like  a  bright 
young  man. 

WEEKS  :  Oh,  I  beg  of  you ! 

ARTHUR:  And  so  I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  willing 
to  concede  that  your  sympathy  for  me  and  my  .  .  . 
heroism,  as  you  are  good  enough  to  call  it,  is  purely  of 
the  theoretical  sort. 

WEEKS  :  In  the  very  nature  of  things  it  must  be  so. 

ARTHUR:  Precisely.  Nevertheless  your  sympathy 
honors  and  touches  me.  But,  Mr.  Weeks,  if  you  and  your 
young  friends  will  be  guided  by  me  as  an  older  man, 
who  has  had  some  little  experience,  do  not  get  excited 
over  this  affair.  It  is  nothing  extraordinary,  my  young 
friend,  for  a  man  to  be  betrayed  by  his  wife. 

WEEKS:  Yes,  but  to  forgive  her!  Freely  and  with 
dignity !  To  say  she  had  the  right ! 

ARTHUR:  To  say  she  had  the  right!  Yes,  perhaps 
that  is  a  new  variation.  But  I  am  not  so  sure  it  would 
be  well  to  make  a  principle  of  it. 

WEEKS  :  [rises;  aggrieved]  Oh,  you  are  only  making 
fun  of  me. 

72 


ARTHUR  :  Why  do  you  say  that  ? 

WEEKS  :  We  meant  well.  But  I  see  you  do  not  need 
us.  We  had  believed  that  now,  when  everyone  else  is 
misunderstanding  you  and  ridiculing  you,  you  would 
be  pleased  to  know  that  there  are  some  young  people  who 
stand  by  you. 

ARTHUR:  And  are  proud  of  my  dishonor. 

WEEKS  :  We  were  proud.    If  I  have  offended  you 

ARTHUR:  Not  at  all.  I  think  I  understand  you,  Mr. 
Weeks.  You  are  young  and  untamed.  You  have  the 
instinctive  hatred  of  youth  for  the  stupidity  of  the 
masses,  the  tyranny  of  laws,  the  shackles  of  conventions. 
Preserve  your  hatred  of  these  things;  it  is  perhaps  the 
best  thing  you  own.  Always  do  what  you  conceive  to 
be  free  and  right,  but  don't,  my  boy,  don't  try  to  per- 
suade others  to  do  it.  Because  for  them  it  may  not  be 
free  and  right  at  all,  but,  on  the  contrary,  utterly  false 
and  wrong.  No  law  can  govern  every  case,  no  rule 
every  circumstance.  ...  If  a  wife  betrays  her  hus- 
band, it  may  be  despicable  of  her,  it  may  be  noble  or  it 
may  be  utterly  indifferent.  It  depends  entirely  upon 
the  man,  the  woman  and  what  the  circumstances  were, 
the  truth  of  which  no  one  can  know  except  the  people 
themselves  concerned.  If  you  set  up  laws  and  prece- 
dents they  must  be  false  because  every  case  requires  a 
separate  law.  This  is  true  of  your  radical  laws  as  well 
as  reactionary  ones.  Give  up  your  debating  societies 
and  your  dream  of  enlightening  the  world.  If  you  must 
fight,  fight  for  the  principle  that  no  man  shall  take  it 
upon  himself  to  judge  another.  Fight  for  that  .  .  . 
But  without  societies,  without  debates,  my  dear  Mr. 
Anarchist  .  .  .  And  now  give  my  thanks  to  your 
friends.  It  was  very  good  of  them,  [shakes  hands'] 
And  don't  forget  to  send  me  a  copy  of  The  Faun. 

73 


WEEKS  :  [a  bit  bewildered]    I  shall,  thank  you. 

ARTHUR:  [in  a  tone  of  dismissal]  Good  day,  Mr. 
Weeks,  [crosses  to  the  larger  table.] 

WEEKS:  Good  day,  Professor  Wessley.  Thank  you. 
[he  bows  clumsily  and  exits  at  left.] 

[Arthur  looks  after  him,  smiling  until  lie  has  gone. 

Then  his  face  becomes  suddenly  serious.    He  grasps 

the  back  of  a  chair  with  a  strong  grip,  braces  his  knee 

against  the  padded  side  and  stands  staring  gloomily 

before  him.] 

[Ida  enters  at  left  with  letters,  and  waits.    Seeing 

he  does  not  notice  her,  she  puts  the  letters  on  the 

table.] 

ARTHUR:  [finally  seeing  her]  Oh!  Thank  you. 
[begins  to  sign  the  letters.] 

IDA:  And  will  you  go  over  the  records,  please? 
[indicates  a  long  list  she  has  in  her  hand.] 

ARTHUR:  Why,  that  is  for  Mrs.  Wessley  to  do. 

IDA  :  Mrs.  Wessley  gave  them  to  me  today. 

ARTHUR:  Very  well,    [continues  to  sign.] 

IDA  :  I  wanted  to  tell  you,  master,  that  Dr.  Evans  and 
I  have  decided. 

ARTHUR:  Suddenly  you  find  courage!  Was  it  the 
good  example  you  just  witnessed  in  this  household? 
Well  .  .  .  congratulations;  and  don't  make  it  too 
hard  for  poor  Evans. 

IDA  :  We  wished  to  ask  you,  master 

ARTHUR:  [interrupts  irrascibly]  Some  other  time, 
please. 

[He   signs   the   last   letter  and   leaves   the   table. 

Ida  takes  the  letters  and  goes  up  left.    At  the  door 

she  meets  Katherine  entering,  permits  her  to  pass, 

then  exits.] 

74 


ARTHUR:  [sees  Katherine;  surprised]  Oh!  [waits 
until  Ida  has  gone;  then  lightly]  Is  there  anything 
you  want  ? 

KATHERINE:  [looks  at  him  searchingly;  shakes  her 
head]  I  have  been  through  the  entire  building.  Every- 
thing is  in  order.  I  believe  the  boy  in  seven  is  doing 
nicely,  but  Dr.  Rokoro  will  tell  you  better  about  that. 
And  here  is  the  journal.  I  have  examined  it  carefully. 
Everything  is  up  to  date.  Here:  I  surrender  it  to  you. 

ARTHUR  :  How  dramatic ! 

KATHERINE:  Does  that  annoy  yon? 

ARTHUR  :  Not  at  alL    I  beg  your  pardon. 

KATHERINE:  Can  you  spare  me  a  little  time  now? 
[sits  down.] 

ARTHUR:  Always,  my  dear.  Five  minutes  ago  you 
had  a  champion  here.  The  Radical  Youth  have  paid  me 
a  visit,  [goes  to  the  cabinet.] 

KATHERINE  :  [after  a  pause]  All  the  time  yesterday 
I  fancied  you  would  come  to  me  or  send  for  me. 

ARTHUR:  No. 

KATHERINE  :  No.  But  you  did  deem  it  fitting  to  dis- 
cuss the  matter  first  with  your  brother  and  then  with 
Dr.  Bokoro. 

ARTHUR  :  My  brother  I  laughed  at  and  put  out  of  the 
house.  And  Eokoro — well — you  know  we  often  discuss 
abstract  theories  of  life.  But  to  talk  it  over  the  wav 
you  mean — that  I  have  not  done.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should. 

KATHERINE:  Not  even  with  me. 

ARTHUR:  [somewhat  uneasily,  but  trying  to  hide  it] 
It  is  hardly  worth  while,  Katherine.  I  have 

KATHERINE:  Yes,  you  have  forgiven  me,  but 

ARTHUR:  No;  that  is  not  the  word.  I  have  nothing 
to  forgive.  I  am  not  outraged  nor  aggrieved.  I  con- 

75 


sider  that  you  had  the  right  to  do  what  you  did.  That 
is  my  opinion.  I  did  not  think  I  needed  to  tell  you  that. 

KATHERINE:  Eight!  Wrong!  That  I  shall  have  to 
decide  for  myself.  But  haven't  I  ...  Haven't  I 
hurt  you  ? 

ARTHUR:  [shortly;  crossly]  I  am  not  sentimental. 
You  might  have  discovered  that  in  seven  years. 

KATHERINE  :  You  said  it  often  enough. 

ARTHUR  :  And  yesterday  I  proved  it. 

KATHERINE:  [sadly]    Yes;  no  one  need  pity  you. 

ARTHUR:  No  one  shall. 

KATHERINE  :  Then  I  really  can't  see  why  we  shouldn't 
talk  about  it. 

ARTHUR:  I  don't  understand  why  it  is  so  important 
to  you  to  discuss  this  thing. 

KATHERINE:  Well,  I  must  decide  what  is  to  be 
done  now. 

ARTHUR  :  If  I  must  say  it — nothing  is  to  be  done  now. 
I  concede  you  the  right  to  this  new  pastime  of  yours. 
You  can  have  anything  else  you  like — a  new  limousine, 
a  set  of  furs  ...  I  can  deny  you  nothing  [ironically] 
I  love  you  so. 

KATHERINE:  [bites  her  Up]  So  you  really  believe  I 
could  have  given  myself  to  another  man  and  still  con- 
tinued to  live  with  you. 

ARTHUR:  You  evidently  believed  it,  too,  until  you 
were  caught  yesterday. 

KATHERINE:  Arthur,  it  was  the  first  time.  I  see  I 
must  tell  you  how  it  came  about. 

ARTHUR:  Do  you  suppose  the  details  are  of  such 
absorbing  interest  to  me? 

KATHERINE:  [without  heeding  him]  You  appeared 
to  be  very  fond  of  Jean  in  the  beginning,  when  he  stuck 
to  you  though  everyone  else  was  against  you. 

76 


ARTHUR:  He  used  to  amuse  me.  He  took  himself  so 
seriously. 

KATHERINE:  And  I  used  to  pity  him  for  the  same 
reason.  There  was  something  desolate  about  him.  He 
had  never  had  anyone  to  care  about  him,  no  one  to  con- 
fide in  or  to  trust. 

ARTHUR  :  And  that  attracted  you  ? 

KATHERINE  :  Yes.  For  you  see,  Arthur,  it  was  a  new 
sensation  to  me  to  know  that  there  was  someone  I  could 
help  .  .  .  someone  who  came  to  me  with  his  cares 
and  was  happier  when  I  consoled  him.  I  had  never 
known  that  two  people  could  be  like  that  to  each  other 
.  .  .  companions  in  the  spiritual,  the  truest  sense. 
You  and  I  never  were.  That  is  how  it  began,  I  think — 
out  of  my  sympathy  for  him.  .  .  .  Then  there  was 
something  else.  He  took  me  in  serious  earnest;  you 
used  to  laugh  at  me.  He  felt  things  as  I  felt  them ;  and 
I  could  tell  him  things  that  would  only  have  appeared 
ridiculous  to  you  .  .  .  and  ridiculous  to  me,  too, 
perhaps,  had  I  tried  to  tell  them  to  you 

ARTHUR  :  How  touching ! 

KATHERINE  :  What  was  I  to  you  but  your  assistant  in 
charge  of  the  patients?  You  had  no  need  of  me.  You 
never  need  anyone.  All  people  appear  so  small  to  you 
— insignificant  and  ludicrous.  Perhaps  they  are.  But 
if  you  could  only  have  understood  sometimes  how  your 
self-sufficiency  left  me  ...  lonely  .  .  .  stifling 
....  as  though  I  were  alone  on  a  high  mountain  in 
air  too  thin  to  breathe.  If  only  you  had  understood,  it 
might  have  been  different.  But  you  never  understood. 
He  did.  He  used  to  suffer  when  he  saw  me  unhappy. 
You — had  you  known — would  only  have  made  a  joke  of 
it.  Him  my  sorrows  touched  deeply. 

ARTHUR  :  I  have  no  heart.    I've  heard  that  before. 


KATHERINE  :  His  sympathy  drew  me  gradually  closer 
to  him  and  away  from  you.  When  I  look  back  I  see  that 
things  had  to  happen  just  as  they  did.  Then,  too,  I 
fancy  it  was  due  in  a  great  measure  to  my  desire  to  hurt 
you,  to  spite  you,  as  it  were.  Yes,  that  too  ...  to 
spite  you.  You  were  so  sure  of  yourself — and  of  me. 
Often  I  used  to  tell  myself,  "Now  he  will  be  angered, 
now  he  will  turn  to  me  again."  But  the  more  I  flirted 
with  Jean  the  more  you  laughed  or  waxed  sarcastic. 
That  aroused  the  devil  in  me.  It  made  me  feel  like  a 
reckless,  abandoned  woman. 

ARTHUR:  You  tried  to  make  me  jealous,  I  know. 

KATHERINE  :  I  wanted  to  see  if  it  were  really  true  that 
nothing  can  hurt  you,  if  you  really  were  so  superior,  so 
much  greater  than  your  humanity — as  you  pretend. 

ARTHUR  :  And  poor  Thompson  fondly  dreams  that  you 
love  him. 

KATHERINE  :  Perhaps  I  do.  Consider  this :  yesterday, 
while  he  was  down  in  this  room  with  you  and  I  waited 
upstairs,  I  was  in  a  perfect  fever  of  anxiety.  But  my 
anxiety  was  for  him — only  for  him.  You  I  never  was 
concerned  about,  [watches  him  narrowly]  Are  you 
angry  because  I  tell  you  this  ? 

ARTHUR:  Still  trying  to  find  out  if  anything  can 
hurt  me  ? 

KATHERINE:  No,  Arthur,  that  doesn't  matter  any 
more.  I  have  been  telling  you  these  things  because  I 
wanted  you  to  understand  why  I  must  leave  you. 

ARTHUR:  [rises;  amazed]    Leave  me? 

KATHERINE  :  Yes,  Arthur,  that  is  what  I  came  to  tell 
you.  I  cannot  stay  in  this  house  another  night. 

ARTHUR  :  Isn't  this    .    .    .    sudden  ? 

KATHERINE  :  I  should  have  known  it  long  ago.  Yes- 
terday it  all  broke  out  in  me.  And  so  I  am  going. 

T8 


ARTHUR:  [pacing  up  and  down  the  room;  speaks 
without  emotion]  It  is  very  difficult  to  understand. 
First  you  betray  me.  Then,  because,  instead  of  becoming 
violent  about  it,  I  view  your  offense  philosophically  and 
let  it  pass,  you  are  not  satisfied.  You  propose  to  leave 
me  because  I  am  not  in  a  rage  or  in  despair.  Is  that 
right  ? 

KATHERINE:  You  are  trying  to  distort  the  truth  so 
as  to  put  yourself  in  the  right  and  be  able  to  laugh.  You 
always  do  ...  But  you  cannot  confuse  me  this  time. 
What  you  say  will  not  matter.  Think  me  petty,  if  you 
choose  ...  or  even  .  .  .  despicable.  It  doesn't 
matter.  It  is  time  I  began  to  think  of  my  own  happi- 
ness. I  have  no  more  time  to  lose.  Half  my  life  is 
wasted  already. 

ARTHUR:  [stung  by  the  realization  that  she  means  it; 
comes  toward  her;  speaks  with  reproachful  sincerity] 
Wasted,  Katherine?  Surely  not  wasted!  .  .  .  Per- 
haps I  may  have  unwittingly  treated  you  badly.  .  .  . 
You  will  concede,  I  hope,  that  I  never  intentionally 
made  you  unhappy.  However,  that  may  be,  wasted  is 
the  wrong  word.  Stop  to  think,  Katherine.  We  have 
been  living  together  seven  years.  That  is  a  long  time — 
seven  years;  and  .  .  .  and  you  have  been  of  incal- 
culable help  to  me. 

KATHERINE:  To  your  patients. 

ARTHUR  :  I  wasn't  thinking  of  that.  I  mean  you  have 
.  .  .  you  have  worked  with  me  .  .  .  yes  .  .  . 
step  by  step  you  have  helped  to  build  up  the  whole 
structure  of  my  achievements.  In  everything  your  efforts 
counted.  Today,  when  I  look  back,  I  can't  truthfully 
say  how  much  of  our  success  was  due  to  me  and  how 
much  to  you. 

70 


[Stops;  sees  that  this  leaves  her  unmoved.     It  is 

easy  to  see  that  pleading  for  anything  is  irksome  to 

him;  yet  he  plunges  hurriedly  on  another  tangent.] 
That  isn't  all,  Katherine.  I  have  always  cared  for  you 
very  much  .  .  .  more  than  I  ever  supposed  I  could 
care  for  anyone.  To  be  sure,  it  was  in  my  fashion  .  .  . 
which  is  not  demonstrative  ...  no  ...  not 
demonstrative  .  .  .  hut  I  cared  intensely.  And  you, 
if  you  will  only  remember  it,  Katherine,  you  loved  me, 
too.  ...  So  when  you  suddenly  discover  after  seven 
yeais  that  your  life  has  been  wasted — I  cannot  under- 
stand it.  I  have  always  been  happy  with  you  .  .  . 
happy  as  a  man  could  be.  And  to  you  it  was  only  a 
waste  of  life!  [turns  away  from  her  and  goes  up  stage, 
as  if  ashamed  of  his  emotions]  Still,  I  thank  you  for 
being  truthful  to  me.  That  is  the  single  duty  we  owe 
each  other — the  truth. 

KATHERINE:  [sits  quite  still,  her  head  in  her  hands} 
If  we  had  always  been  truthful!  If  only  we  hadn't 
deceived  each  other !  There  was  never  any  truth  in  our 
relations,  Arthur,  never. 

ARTHUR:  It  only  seems  so  to  you  now.  You  are 
nervous  and  upset. 

KATHERINE:  The  way  you  spoke  to  me  just  now.  It 
was  very  queer  ...  I  seemed  to  be  listening  to  a 
total  stranger.  You  never  talked  to  me  like  that  before, 
never  in  the  whole  seven  years. 

ARTHUR:  What  you  complain  of  is  that  I  can't  make 
pretty  speeches.  When^you  talk  about  an  emotion  you 
only  stifle  it.  Words  only  deafen  the  senses.  This  talk, 
too,  is  superfluous. 

KATHERINE:  \sadly]  I  suppose  it  is.  Then  let  us 
part  friends,  [rises.] 

ARTHUR  :  Is  it  so  easy  for  you  ? 

80 


KATHERINE  :  I  don't  know.  As  you  say,  I  am  nervous 
and  upset.  Perhaps  later  I  shall  see  more  clearly.  I 
only  see  now  that  I  must  leave  you.  [goes  to  the 
window.'] 

AETHUR  :  I  cannot  keep  you  against  your  will  .  .  . 
and  do  not  wish  to. 

KATHERINE:  [nods sadly}    No. 

ARTHUR  :  [paces  up  and  down  the  room.  The  finality 
toward  which  the  affair  has  turned  does. not  please  him. 
He  seeks  to  re-open  the  discussion]  Why  do  you  say  we 
have  never  been  truthful  ?  What  did  you  mean  by  that  ? 

KATHERINE  :  [comes  slowly  down  to  him']  You  never 
knew  me.  In  seven  years  you  did  not  learn  to  know  me. 
It  was  partly  my  fault — in  the  beginning — I  started 
wrongly.  I  deceived  you. 

ARTHUR:  How  did  you  deceive  me? 

KATHERINE  :  By  pretending  to  be  what  I  was  not.  I 
was  so  young  when  we  first  met,  and  you  were  so  strong 
and  impressive,  so  cheerful,  so  sure  of  yourself  .  .  . 
I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  awe  and  admiration  I  re- 
garded you.  It  seemed  to  me  that  to  become  self-suffi- 
cient and  strong  like  you  was  the  greatest  thing  to  be 
desired.  Often,  as  your  little  assistant,  I  used  to  sit 
near  you,  silently  worshipping  and  imitating  you.  Do 
you  remember  how  apt  I  was,  how  quick  to  understand 
the  most  complicated  apparatus?  .  .  .  And  some- 
times you  used  to  mock  me  in  your  sarcastic  way  because 
I  was  so  prudish  ...  or  you  would  tell  me  about 
your  life — how  you  ran  away  from  your  stern  father  and 
came  over  the  sea  ...  over  the  wide  sea.  It  was  all 
so  wonderful,  so  big  to  me !  .  .  .  Do  you  remember 
how  you  used  to  say  to  me,  "Go  among  people  smiling 
and  unafraid.  Ask  nothing  of  life,  and  you  will  owe 


life  nothing."  Do  you  remember?  .  .  .  That  was 
how  I  pretended  to  be.  How  foolish  I  was ! 

ARTHUR:  [approaches  her,  touches  her  hair  lightly] 
How  you  excite  yourself,  Katherine,  all  for  nothing ! 

KATHERINE:  [moves  away  from  his  touch}  No, 
Arthur,  don't  think  that.  Don't  believe  that  if  you  are 
considerate  and  tender  now  .  .  .  That  can't  make 
any  difference.  It  is  too  late. 

ARTHUR:  Has  my  conduct  been  so  unpardonable, 
Katherine  ? 

KATHERINE  :  No,  it's  not  that.  It  is  simply  that  you 
have  no  more  power  over  me. 

ARTHUR:  [softly]    And    ...    he? 

KATHERINE  :  Yes,  he  can  do  with  me  what  he  will — 
just  as  you  could  long  ago. 

ARTHUR:  [after  a  pause,  during  which  he  seems  to  be 
forcing  himself  to  say  something]  If  it  was  my  fault, 
it  was  not  in  the  way  you  suppose.  Hereafter  I  shall 
have  to  be  more  considerate  of  you.  You  don't  seem  to 
understand  yourself — quite. 

KATHERINE:  [shakes  her  head]  But  you  cannot 
help  me. 

ARTHUR:  And  for  these  trifling  misunderstandings 
can  you  turn  your  back  on  your  whole  life?  Your 
pleasure  in  our  work,  our  achievements,  your  pride  in 
our  little  home,  our  establishment  that  we  have  built  up, 
you  and  I,  between  us — do  these  things  mean  nothing  to 
you  any  more? 

KATHERINE:  [bitterly]  They  never  meant  anything 
to  me — never.  Not  your  work,  not  your  sick,  none  of 
it !  I  tolerated  them  only  to  please  you,  to  be  useful  to 
you,  to  grow  closer  to  you — that  was  why.  But  I  hate 
them  now  because  .  .  .  because  you  don't  mean  any- 
thing more  to  me. 

82 


ARTHUR  :  [in  a  sudden  burst  of  rage]  I'll  not  let  you 
go  away. 

KATHERINE:  [scornfully]    Oh! 

ARTHUR:  You  shan't  go  to  him.  [She  starts  to  go; 
he  bars  the  way;  she  tries  to  pass  him] 

KATHERINE  :    Please ! 

ARTHUR:  [brutally']  You  are  going  to  stay  here,  [as 
she  tries  £o  pass  him  he  grasps  her  arm  roughly.] 

KATHERINE:  [crying  out  with  pain]  Oh!  You  are 
hurting  me. 

[Arthur  releases  her  and  steps  back,  leans  against 

the  big  table,  fumbling  at  his  collar  hotly,  then  in  a 

rage  sweeps  the  vase  to  the  floor,  where  it  breaks  to 

pieces  with  a  crash.    Instantaneously  he  recovers  his 

composure  and  goes  to  the  window  slowly,  his  back  to 

Katherine.] 

KATHERINE:  [after  a  long  pause,  during  which  she 
looks  at  him  yearningly]  Too  late,  Arthur.  If  I  had 
seen  you  like  this  but  once,  only  once,  in  the  past  seven 
years,  once  to  be  overcome  by  emotion !  Still,  what  hurts 
you  more  than  losing  me  is  seeing  me  go  to  a  man  who 
appears  so  insignificant  to  you.  You  can't  care  for 
people.  All  you  desire  is  the  sensation  of  strength  and 
mastery  over  your  life.  But  I  can't  be  like  that.  I  don't 
want  to  be — now.  And  so  I  am  going  to  a  man  who  is 
like  myself  .  .  .  yes,  who  has  sorrows  that  he  feels 
and  will  share  with  me.  And  who  can  love,  Arthur.  I 
can  be  something  to  him  because  he  don't  consider 
himself 

ARTHUR:  [turns;  interrupts  her,  banteringly]  You 
mean  doesn't,  my  dear.  Pardon  me  for  correcting  you, 
but  don't  is  a  contraction  of  the  words  "do  not."  One 
wouldn't  say,  "He  do  not  consider." 

83 


KATHERINE:  Ah!  The  master  is  himself  again. 
[goes  reluctantly  to  the  door  at  left."] 

ARTHUR:  Indeed. 

KATHERINE:  Now  you  have  a  new  theme  to  discuss 
with  Dr.  Rokoro. 

ARTHUR  :  When  do  you  go  ? 

KATHERINE:  At  once. 

ARTHUR:  I  will  send  for  my  lawyer  tomorrow. 

KATHERINE:  Very  well. 

ARTHUR:  [detaining  her"]  One  thing  more.  I  have 
a  last  request  to  make.  Will  you  leave  me  Titus  ?  The 
beast  is  so  used  to  me,  he  won't  be  able  to  tolerate  a  new 
master.  Dogs  are  like  that,  you  know. 

KATHERINE:  [nods  assent;  then  softly']  Good-bye, 
Arthur;  I  wish  you  much  happiness. 

ARTHUR:  Melodramatic  again!  Perhaps  Thompson 
will  permit  us  to  see  each  other  once  in  a  while — Just  as 
good  neighbors,  you  know.  I  suppose  we  shall  be 
neighbors. 

KATHERINE:  Perhaps.  [She  starts  to  go  out,  but  half- 
unwillingly  turns  to  him  again."] 

ARTHUR:  [starts  toward  her;  checks  himself  with  an 
effort]  Now  is  the  moment  for  me  to  throw  out  my 
arms  and  cry,  "Do  not  leave  me!  Stay,  Katherine! 
Forgive  me !  Katherine,  I  love  you !"  Isn't  that  what 
you  turned  back  for? 

KATHERINE  :  [sorrowfully]  Be  happy,  Arthur,  [exits 
slowly  at  left."] 

ARTHUR:  [stares  after  her ;  laughs  wildly]  Ha!  [he 
rings  for  the  servant;  sits  at  the  table,  pretending  to  be 
working.  Ida,  enters  from  left."] 

IDA:  Clemens  is  in  the  garden.  Is  there  anything  7 
can  do? 

84 


ARTHUR:  [at  the  table;  keeping  still  with  difficulty] 
Oh !  I  want  you.  You  must  take  over  the  work  of  in- 
spection, all  my  wife's  work,  in  fact.  .  .  .  My  wife 
is  going  away  ...  In  other  words  ...  we  have 
separated.  .  .  .  God !  Don't  make  such  a  stupid  face. 
Such  things  happen.  You  will  understand  better  after 
you  are  married  .  .  .  And  ask  Dr.  Eokoro  if  he  won't 
see  me  in  here  for  a  moment.  .  .  .  And  have  those 
pieces  removed.  The  vase  was  smashed. 

[Ida  stoops  to  gather  the  fragments  of  the  vase. 

Suddenly  she  begins  to  sob  violently.   Arthur  looks  up 

wonderingly] 
Ida,  what  is  the  matter? 

IDA:  [sobbing]    You  must  be  very  unhappy,  master. 

ARTHUR:  Why? 

IDA  :  If  only  you  wouldn't  fight  back  your  feelings,  it 
wouldn't  hurt  you  so  much. 

ARTHUR  :  [crossly] .  Will  you  call  Dr.  Rokoro,  please  ? 

[Rokoro  enters  at  left] 
I  was  just  sending  for  you,  little  doctor. 

[Ida  exits,  sobbing,  with  the  fragments  of  the  vase.] 

ARTHUR:  Well,  have  you  heard  the  news?  [Rokoro 
nods  gravely]  It  seems  like  a  victory  for  you,  doesn't 
it,  my  little  philosopher? 

ROKORO  :  [approaches  him  solicitously,  takes  his  hand 
and  strokes  it  gently]  Not  talk  now,  master.  Talk 
later  .  .  .  tomorrow. 

ARTHUR:  You  think  utility  has  gone  sadly  astray, 
don't  you?  But  I  am  not  so  sure.  See!  A  man  de- 
termines to  solve  each  problem  of  his  life  by  reason  alone. 
His  wife  betrays  him.  And  instead  of  killing  her,  or 
divorcing  her,  or  killing  himself,  he  forgives  her.  What 
happens?  He  is  laughed  at.  Well,  he  exacted  that. 
Honorable  people — of  whom  my  irreproachJBfe  brother 

85 


is  a  sublime  example — despise  him.  Well,  he  might 
hate  expected  that,  too.  Then  schoolboys,  who  have 
read  their  Plutarch  without  understanding  it,  come  to 
him  and  honor  him  as  their  leader.  He  could  even 
bear  that.  Xext  the  wife,  for  whom  he  has  done  all 
this,  mpnarlMi  him,  leaves  him  in  hate  and  goes  to  her 
lover.  Even  that  is  not  so  terrible  .  .  .  But  when 
tiie  two  people  who  are  of  use  to  him — of  bodily  use, 
9*  to  speak — are  ashamed  of  him  because  be  is  not 
heartbroken  .  .  .  the  last  straw  is  reached.  That 
is  too  modi.  [**?**]  Nothing  is  left  to  me  except 
Titos,  the  dog.  The  dog,  after  all,  is  the  only  philosopher 
Aiming  yon.  When  yon  come  to  write  your  analysis  of 
our  Caucasian  culture  make  a  note  of  that  dog,  little 
doctor  .  .  .  And  don't  make  me  out  too  much  of  an 
ass  in  jour  book,  will  you  ?  Put  it  milder.  ...  Or 
at  any  rate,  say  I  was  a  good  surgeon.  A  surgeon  needn't 
necessarily  understand  human  nature.  Or  do  you  believe 
this  is  going  to  ruin  my  practice,  too;  that  I  had  better 
go  wandering  with  you 

BOKOKO:  [pleadingly]  Master! 

AKTHTB:  Yes,  this  is  the  finish  of  your  master. 
People  can  laugh  now.  If  something  goes  wrong  with  a 
poor  devil,  everybody  pities  him;  but  who  has  pity  for 
the  strong?  .  .  .  Thank  God  I  still  hare  left  my  sense 
of  humor.  [his  thoughts  appear  to  go  to  something  A§ 
vfttZe  he  mechanically  repeats]  Still  my  sense  of  humor ! 

BOKOSO  :  [crouches  down  betide  him;  grinning  mirth- 
lessly]  Xo  more  .  .  .  today  .  .  .  about  this  .  .  . 
Will  you  read  with  me  .  .  .  something  out  of 
Xieifflche? 

AKHUR:  Good  chap!  [lost  in  thought  again]  "Give 
me  the  man  that  is  not  passion's  slave,"  says  Hamlet. 
See!  All  my  life  I  have  schooled  myself  to  be  free  of  my 


passions.  And  I  was  free.  But  who  knows  whether  a 
slave  would  not  have  made  my  wife  happier.  Yes,  for 
she  lacked  the  power  of  reason  .  .  .  But,  you  little 
Jap,  that  doesn't  prove  my  philosophy  false.  I  began 
wrongly — that  was  all.  The  mistake  lay  in  marrying  a 
wanton 

EOKOEO:  [springs  up  in  disgust]  Ooh!  [moves 
quickly  across  the  room,  shuddering  with  disgust]  Ooh ! 
[points  at  Arthur  accusingly]  You  are  not  good  .  .  . 
Yes  .  .  .  right !  .  .  .  She  was  right ! 

ARTHUR  :  You  were  always  a  bit  in  love  with  her. 

EOKORO:  [frightened;  denies  it  quickly;  his  finger 
raised  as  if  swearing]  Never !  But  she  was  good  .  .  . 
very  good  woman,  [approaches  Arthur;  points  at  him 
accusingly]  You  are  not  good  ...  I  would  not 
remain  with  you  either.  Ooh ! 

ARTHUR  :  Because  I  am  not  good  ? 

ROKORO:  [sharply]     Yes. 

ARTHUR  :  [reproachfully]    Little  doctor ! 

EOKORO  :  [relenting]  True  .  .  .  you  mean  well 
.  .  .  but  your  system  ...  it  is  false.  False! 
False!  False  all  over!  ...  If  you  love,  you  must 
be  able  to  hate,  too.  Yes,  on  the  other  side  of  love  there 
must  be  hate  .  .  .  and  shoot,  too,  master  .  .  . 
that  goes  with  it.  You  must  wish  to  shoot,  if  you  love. 
.  .  .  But  to  hold  one's  self  so,  in  one's  hand  [raises 
his  clenched  fist]  to  be  sure  of  one's  self  .  .  .  always 
to  be  right  .  .  .  to  be  right  over  everyone  .... 
always  .  .  .  that  is  not  enough.  No,  it  is  not  good 
just  to  be  right  .  .  .  Better  to  give  everything  to 
someone  .  .  .  everything  you  have  ...  to  give 
so  much  that  there  is  nothing  left  to  give  anyone  else. 
That !  That  is  good !  No  one  must  feel  always  "I  am 
right" 

87 


ARTHUR:  [who  has  listened  attentively;  laughs  softly] 
And  God,  little  doctor,  what  of  Him  ? 

ROKORO  :  He  needs  to  be  right  .  .  .  His  business  is 
to  be  right  .  .  .  but  not  for  us.  He  sits  above  .  .  . 
Is  it  not  so  ?  .  .  .  like  a  great  Judge.  He  must  see 
everything  and  understand  .  .  .  But  a  little  horse 
who  runs  here  below  .  .  .  shall  he  try  to  be  like 
God?  No  ...  no  .  .  .  He  can  only  .  .  . 
quick,  quick  .  .  .  run,  run  .  .  .  over  the  road  of 
life  ...  in  what  direction  the  reins  are  pulled.  And 
passion  pulls  the  reins  .  .  .  Difficult  for  me  in 
English!  .  .  .  But  do  you  see  what  I  mean?  He 
is  the  true  master  who  runs  bravest  with  his  passions. 

ARTHUR:  [reflecting]  Then,  if  I  understand  you 
rightly,  man  is  not  master  of  his  life,  but,  rather  a 
marionette. 

ROKO no:  Marionette!    What  is  that? 

ARTHUR:  You. 

ROKORO  :  What  does  it  mean  ? 

ARTHUR:  It  means  what  you  make  out  a  man  to  be. 
Do  you  know  what  a  puppet  is  ? 

ROKORO:  [pleased]  Oh,  yes.  [indicates  with  his 
finger]  So  ? 

ARTHUR:  [watches  the  jumping  finger]  Yes.  Behind 
the  wires  are  drawn.  Cares,  emotions,  passions  pull 
the  wires,  and  accordingly  the  puppet  dances.  Isn't  that 
what  you  mean  ? 

ROKORO  :  [rubs  his  hands  with  satisfaction]  Exactly 
.  .  .  just  exactly. 

ARTHUR:  And  who  knows?  Perhaps  it  is  a  tragic 
mistake  not  to  be  a  puppet. 

ROKORO:  Aren't  we  mortals  better  off  for  it?  .  .  . 
To  feel  a  power  above  us  ...  beyond  us  ...  that 
pushes  and  pulls  and  drives  .  .  .  and  we  must  do 

88 


what  it  wants  ...  we  cannot  help  ourselves  .  .  . 
It  is  stronger  than  we.  [hesitates;  looks  self-consciously 
down  as  if  he  is  ashamed  of  what  he  is  about  to  say} 
Master,  don't  try  .  .  .  any  longer  ...  to  cut  the 
wires  with  the  scissors  of  your  reason. 

[Looks  up,  sees  that  Arthur  is  no  longer  listening; 
stops  talking,  steps  cautiously  away,  looks  back  at  him 
again,  then  starts  to  go  softly  to  the  door.} 
ARTHUR:  [coming  out  of  a  reverie,  during  which  he 
wipes  his  moist  eyes  with  his  hand}     Little  doctor! 
[turns  to  look  at  Rokoro,  then  settles  back  peacefully} 
Don't  go  away.     [Rokoro  comes  back}     Stay  here.    I'd 
rather  not  be  alone  today.    Isn't  it  stupid?    Tomorrow 
— tomorrow  I  shall  have  myself  in  hand  again. 

EOKORO  :  [cowers  down  at  Arthur's  feet  like  a  faithful 
dog}  Dear  master! 

ARTHUR:  [reaches  down;  pulls  Rokoro's  ear;  smiles 
wistfully}  Puppet !  [stares  thoughtfully  into  the  glow- 
ing end  of  his  cigarette.} 

Curtain 


89 


A    000045413     2 


